


Wednesday Lessons

by 606



Series: The Weekday!Verse [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: HP: EWE, Hogwarts, M/M, Minor Violence, PTSD!Draco, Slow Burn, Wandless Magic, a lil bit of angst, bottom!Draco, lots of characters, porn?, pre-eighth year, some of these tags are superfluous, um...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-02-14 15:01:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 62,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2196249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/606/pseuds/606
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Draco Malfoy's magic becomes dangerously erratic and unstable, Harry Potter seems like the only one that he can turn to for help - but, of course, when has anything involving Harry Potter ever been simple?<br/>Includes salacious Slytherins, rampaging Rita Skeeter, discouraging disappearances, and a horribly-unimpressed headmistress. (And more.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lesson One

Lesson One

o

“Hatred, by a gradual and quiet process, will even be transformed to love, unless the change be impeded by a continually new irritation of the original feeling of hostility.”

                        ~ Nathaniel Hawthorne, _The Scarlet Letter_

o

_Blood pooled around his pale skin, cherry-black stains crawling up his white shirt. His body twitched against the freezing stone floor, his muscles shivering as the slices on his chest continued to weep. A vengeful hissing could be heard creeping in behind him, the heavy sound of a body slithering across the floor causing his shivers to multiply. Suddenly there were scarlet, piercing eyes, a slow, cold smile accompanied by pain, such horrible, penetrating agony ripping through his body, an unforgiving presence smothering his mind in terror._

“NO!” Draco’s eyes flew open, his body sitting bolt upright in his sweat-soaked sheets, his hand clawing at the blood-red Mark on his left arm. He panted as he took in his surroundings: his dresser seemed to have overturned, spewing his clothes all over his polished wooden floors; his mirror was cracked, a sprinkling of fine, shining dust layering any nearby surfaces; his door was swinging on one of its hinges, a large gauge in the middle of the wood.

Draco groaned, covering his face with his hands as he collapsed back on his mattress. “Fuck.”

This was getting out of hand.

ooOoo

“Good morning, Darling,” Narcissa greeted as Draco shuffled into the dining room, straightening his shirt as Blissy laid out his breakfast. He nodded politely as he pulled out his chair, delicately seating himself in front of his meal of finely cooked Jarvey meat and a green, teardrop-shaped fruit he enjoyed for its nutty taste.

“Good morning, Mother. I hope you slept well.”

Narcissa raised a groomed eyebrow, her ice-blue eyes staring at her only son. “I did sleep quite well, Draco, though I did hear some commotion at one point.” The question, or demand, perhaps, was implied, causing Draco to stare hard at his breakfast, ignoring the physical feel of his mother’s gaze.

The dining room was silent except for the quiet _clink_ of silverware against fine porcelain, the noiseless argument between the two Malfoys charging the air. Draco suddenly, harshly, set down his fork, finally making eye-contact with Narcissa. “Mother, what would you care for me to do? I refuse to see a physician as there is nothing to cure.”

“’Nothing to cure,’ Draco? You do realize this is the seventh time in a fortnight that your room has been practically dismantled while you slept.” Draco frowned, turning his head away to stare into the empty fireplace. The grey light seeping into the room from the rain-pelted window cast a dim shadow over the inhabitants of the walls, seeming to reflect the dour mood.

“I know, Mother. But having…nightmares,” Draco muttered the word, ashamed of his subconscious, “is not something I want to broadcast, particularly to a society that already finds me vexing and pathetic.”

“At this point, my dear, it might not matter what you want; your magic has been unstable for weeks now, Draco, ever since things finally started to settle down after the Trials. You simply must do something before you hurt yourself while you sleep.” Narcissa’s tone was sharp, as close as she ever got to pleading with Draco.

Draco sighed, slouching in his high-backed chair. “Fine, Mother; say that I wanted to find some way to solve the issue of my unstable magic – who could I even approach to aid me?”

Blue eyes met grey for a long moment.

It abruptly clicked in Draco’s mind. “No, no, no, Mother! I refuse! It’s simply impossible! I refuse to approach that arrogant, self-righteous, conceited –”

Narcissa’s mouth curled into an apologetic smirk as she cut off his rant. “You know as well as I do that he is one of the most powerful living wizards; he will surely know how to channel your excessive magical energy.” Narcissa took a long sip of her plum-coloured drink. “He also happens to owe me a favour.”

Draco’s mouth twisted as though he tasted something incredibly bitter. Narcissa gazed at him across the stretched table, watching in a knowing silence. “Fine,” Draco finally spat, getting up from the table and stomping to his room in a very childish way.

Narcissa chuckled wearily at his back. “Blissy, please bring me a quill and some parchment.”

ooOoo

It was still raining.

Draco sat in his favourite armchair in his father’s study, immersed in memories and dreams, the two being startlingly similar recently. It’d been hours since breakfast, hours that Draco passed in a blurry daze. How could his mother believe that…that _prick_ could help him with this? So maybe he was the most powerful wizard living at the moment, and perhaps he was more likely to stay away from the press than others – that didn’t mean Draco had to enjoy the fact that he would owe Harry bloody Potter another damn thing.

_But_ , a sneaking voice in Draco’s mind muttered, _your problem is becoming rather serious, to put it lightly._ Draco reached into the sleeve of his jumper, pulling out the wand he’d been using for the past few weeks, an ancient Malfoy heirloom, the grain of wood and the core unknown. He pointed the magical stick at his father’s desk, quietly murmuring the spell for it to turn blue.

Instead, it crumbled into maroon-coloured powder.

“Fuck!” Draco yelped as he scrambled out of his chair, kneeling down to run his hand through the fine residue that was once another priceless antique. Draco hit his fist lightly against his forehead, knowing that this level of disintegration was irreparable.

“Fuck,” he repeated. He stood, staring hard at the pile of dust, an absolutely mental idea suddenly taking over him. He tossed the wand on the armchair, reaching out to hold his hand over the pile, similar to how one who hold a hand over a broom. Feeling incredibly stupid, Draco whispered, “ _Reparo_ ,” willing the pile to return to its previous, intact state.

Nothing happened.

Muttering curses at himself and the room in general, Draco picked up the temperamental wand, turning and exiting the room before slamming the door shut behind him.

The pile of dust quivered, building itself into the sculpted, ornate bureau it had once been. The far-off noise of another door being slammed echoed through the house, and the desk dissolved onto the floor once again.

ooOoo

The air was heavy with moisture, pressing down on Draco’s skin as he stood in the decrepit remains of the gardens behind the Manor. The legacy of those last few hellish months of war could be seen around Draco’s own home – infecting the place, making it no longer seem like the fortress it had once been to him. The large expanses of burnt grass where Death Eaters had been tortured for hours or days on end seemed to stare at Draco, leering at him.

Draco shuddered, reaching down to grip his Mark tightly, turning the skin around it paler than normal from the pressure.

“Master Draco is being requested to being in the drawing room by Mistress Narcissa,” Blissy squeaked suddenly from behind Draco, startling the boy. He nodded at the elf, taking in one last, long breath of air before turning and entering the handsome manor that had once been his fort, his one haven from the monsters…Now it seemed to be the epicentre of them all.

“Mother, you called for me?” Draco asked as he stepped around the corner, entering the pale, sky-blue room that was alight with weak, after-storm sun.

“Why yes, Draco. We have a guest, you see.” But Draco wasn’t listening, his focus averted to the slouching, dark-haired man leaning against the frame of one of the arching windows.

“…Potter,” Draco tried to greet as civilly as possible, though he could still hear the taint of venom on his words. Potter barely glanced at him, his look unamused, practically bored. Potter turned his head to continue gazing out of the window, his glasses reflecting light and blocking vision of those famous green eyes of his.

Irritation licked heat into Draco, Potter’s clear dismissal of his presence at once both infuriating and familiar. Draco turned to his mother, a questioning tilt in his eyebrows. “Mister Potter agreed to discuss some important matters with me today, and I requested your presence at these negotiations, as they do pertain to you, Draco.”

Draco saw Potter glance at Narcissa out of his peripheral vision, one of those dark eyebrows raised with as much emotion as Draco had seen come out of him so far. “I thought that we were attending to the life debt I owe _you_ , Missus Malfoy, not the ones I potentially owe your son.”

Draco’s eyes widened, his gaze boring into the side of his mother’s face. _Life debts?_ Draco had understood that he and his mother had helped Potter at times, but he’d never thought that any of those occurrences warranted one of the most significant obligations in wizarding law.

Narcissa ignored the palpable confusion from her son, watching Potter with calm, but alert, eyes. “That is correct, Mister Potter. Though I require no return for my aid, my son is in need of your guidance.” Draco felt heat rise to his cheeks, but forced himself to retain focus on the conversation.

“Guidance with what, exactly?” Two sets of eyes were suddenly turned to Draco, the intensity of the focus causing him to swallow and straightened his back.

“I have been suffering from some intense…night-time visions, Potter.” Potter cocked that condescending eyebrow.

“You mean nightmares? You want _me_ to help you with your nightmares?” Potter smirked slightly, his tone dripping with disinterested derision.

“That’s not all, Potter,” Draco continued peevishly. “During the night, I seem to lose control of my magic – it seems to explode out of me, for lack of better terms. My room keeps getting destroyed…and it is getting worse. I also appear to be losing my ability to use a wand.” Narcissa frowned at the new information.

Potter still seemed unimpressed. “So what exactly do you want me to do about it?”

“We all know that you can control unbelievable amounts of magic, Potter, so there’s no use claiming otherwise. I also believe that you are one of the few members of our society who understands the need for privacy and discretion,” Narcissa added coolly as she gracefully perched herself on the settee.

The room was quiet for long while, Narcissa and Draco staring at the dark enigma leaning against their window. “Do you need some other sort of compensation, Potter? We can certainly offer a supply of Galleons –”

“I don’t need money. How long will I be required to help?”

“Until I stop blowing up my house, Potter,” Draco said snootily. Potter stared backed at him, projecting his desire that Draco would simply disappear.

“Fine, then. I’ll teach _Draco_ how to control his magic, and in return I won’t owe any of you any more life debts.” Narcissa nodded, standing up and reaching out to shake Potter’s hand.

“Very good. When would it be convenient for you to begin helping Draco?” Potter shrugged. Narcissa raised an eyebrow at his attitude. “Well, Mister Potter, I’m leaving for France on Wednesday, why don’t you come by then? Our old ballroom should be plenty of space for whatever tutoring needs to occur.”

“Fine. I’ll see you then. Good afternoon, Missus Malfoy, Draco,” Potter nodded unemotionally before following Blissy to the door. The _thunk_ of the heavy wooden door shutting behind him resounded into the parlour.

“Well, that went well, don’t you think?” Narcissa smiled thinly. Draco grimaced.

ooOoo

Wednesday dawned dreary and smothered in fog, the weather continuing to reflect Draco’s stagnant mood. He kissed his mother lightly on the cheek as she stepped into their Floo, twitching his mouth into a reluctant smile as the green fire whisked her away to France.

It was quiet.

The Manor seemed cavernous with its lack of inhabitants – the once richly-populated, lively mansion now a rattling husk with its one lonesome occupant. Draco paced his rooms, staring at the destruction he’d caused the night before – the chaos had spread to the two adjacent bedrooms this time, gaping holes crowding the walls. He twirled the ancient wand in his fingers, debating whether to attempt to repair the damage or not.

Before he could decide, a horrendous, ear-splitting screech filled the hallways of the Manor, causing Draco to yelp soundlessly as he covered his ears. Panic fluttering in his chest, Draco scrambled to the nearest window, knowing that the only thing that could set off the Manor’s modified Caterwauling Charm was an unauthorized penetration of its wards.

Draco’s mouth fell open in outrage: Potter stood in the middle of the stone path leading towards the Manor, the dark-haired layabout waving his wand in an apathetic manner as he simply walked through the various levels of protection Draco’s home was trying to enact.

Draco fumbled as he opened the window, leaning out into the cool air before taking a deep breath. “POTTER! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?” Potter looked up at the shouts, his lips twitching as he made eye contact with the red-faced blonde.

“I didn’t know how to knock on your completely- _not_ -pretentious-and-overbearing gate, so I just walked in,” Potter shrugged after casting a quick _sonorous_ on his throat. Draco fumed, not even able to comprehend Potter’s lack of manners. He slammed the sill shut, stormed down the grand staircase, called off the Caterwauling Charm, then flung open the front door, causing Blissy to squeak in fright as she dove out of her master’s way.

“POTTER!”

“There’s no need to shout: I’m right here.” Potter leaned in the alcove, brushing non-existent dust off the shoulder of his simple black shirt. “Ready to begin your ‘lessons?’” The slightly mocking tone only made Draco angrier, but he resiliently kept his emotions in check. _Fine, Potter. You want to make this unpleasant, I’m only too happy to join in your little game._

“Of course – right this way, Potter,” Draco said calmly before beginning the small trek to the vast, dusty ballroom that consumed the southern wing of the Manor. Draco crossed his arms, watching Potter take stock of the room: The chamber was circular, mirrors studding half of the walls, while reaching, diamond-paned glass covered the rest of the them, allowing a clear view of the famous Malfoy gardens, though most of the rose bushes and trees were burnt or bare, war and weather the main causes. A large glass chandelier hung from above, causing Draco to rub the small scar on his hairline – a remnant from one of the previous times Potter had been in this house. Potter pulled his wand from the pocket, doing some sort of complex motion that Draco couldn’t see.

Nothing seemed to happen. “And what was that for, exactly?”

Potter didn’t even turn around. “It’s a flexible Shield Charm: unless you use some sort of Unforgivable, you won’t be able to physically injure me.”

“If I wanted to attack you, Potter, I would be subtler than cursing you in my own home,” Draco said flippantly, impatient.

“I know you’re not dumb enough to try and kill me, Malfoy: it’s just a security measure.” Potter strolled to the centre of the room, standing underneath the shining, iridescent chandelier. He raised his eyebrows impatiently when Draco just stared at him. “Well?”

“’Well’ what, Potter?”

“Well, do something.”

Draco blinked. “What?”

Potter sighed wearily, rolling his eyes. “Are we here to test your magic or not, Malfoy? Just tell me what spell you’re going to use and do it.”

Irritation prickled Draco’s stomach. _Potter would make an awful teacher_. “ _Fine_. I’ll make it rain, then.” Internally praying that the spell wouldn’t accidentally cause the ceiling to collapse or something as drastic, Draco flicked the wand upward, mouth twitching happily when soft grey clouds coalesced above them, rumbling angrily. _Wait…rumbling?_

Lightning exploded out of the dark mist, shooting down and hitting the marble floor, breaking it with a deafening _CRACK!_ and a blinding burst. Draco fell back against the wall with a groan, pain throbbing from his back. He gently slitted open his eyes, glaring with the little energy he could muster when he saw Potter still standing in the middle of the room, unharmed.

“Well, that was dramatic.”

_I hate you, Potter_ , Draco thought ruthlessly as he stumbled to his feet, dusting off his expensive grey trousers. “So, O Great Teacher, please tell me what the fuck is happening with my magic.” Potter didn’t even flinch at Draco’s scathing tone, merely crossing his arms across his chest casually as Draco stalked closer.

“…I’m not quite sure yet.” Draco opened his mouth, a biting remark on his tongue, when Potter plucked the ancient Malfoy wand out of his hand.

“Oi!”

“I want to try something, Malfoy. Do the spell again.”

“And how am I supposed to do that without a wand?”

Potter narrowed his eyes. Something light sparked in Draco’s chest at the reaction. _Finally, he’s getting mad. Scarhead asked for this._ “Just _do_ it, Malfoy.” Draco huffed, re-enacting the position he’d taken a few days ago over the remains of his father’s desk, only this time with his palm facing the ceiling, mentally saying the charm.

“Wow, how _incredibly_ shocking, Potter. _Who_ could have _guessed_ that I wouldn’t be able to do the spell without a wand?” Draco deadpanned, sarcasm dripping off his tongue. Potter just sighed, bored again, throwing the wand back to Draco.

“Well, I think I know what the problem is now.” Draco just stared at him.

“…And?” Draco finally demanded. “Are you going to divulge this information?”

“…Nah. I’ll see you next Wednesday, then, Malfoy.” Draco choked with outrage when Potter turned, beginning his leisurely walk to the entrance of the room.

“Potter! You can’t just–!”

Potter suddenly stopped, turning around slightly and pointing a finger at the spidery crack splitting the solid marble floor. “Oh, by the way,” and with a noise like a droplet of water hitting cement, the crack was suddenly healing itself before Draco’s very eyes, the cream stone smoothening. Draco’s neck snapped to Potter, who was tucking his hand back in his pocket.

“What-? How did you-? Potter, that’s impossible!”

Potter finally grinned, a sparkle reminiscent of Dumbledore’s shining from behind his glasses. “Anyone can do wandless magic, Malfoy. It’s just no one else is reckless enough to try.”

His eloquence still lost to him, Draco gaped at this enigma of a wizard. “You’re _insane_.”

“Of course I am. But why should that be a bad thing? See you Wednesday.”

Potter’s smile grew a bit crooked at the edges before he turned and strolled out of the door, leaving a gaping Draco standing in the middle of his flawless ballroom floor.

ooOoo

To Be Continued...

ooOoo


	2. Lesson Two

o

Lesson Two

o

“FUCK!” The half-transformed chair clattered against the wall, not even providing Draco the dignity of bursting into satisfying fragments. He threw the frustrating, worthless stick he was using as a wand in the same direction as the chair before flopping onto the floor in a puff of dust. Draco sneered at the grey grime floating around him. _No wonder no one ever comes in here – it’s filthy._

Blowing a piece of soft, pale hair out of his eyes, Draco stared up at the ceiling of the practically empty bedroom, a long-forgotten memory suddenly popping into his head:

_Draco giggled as he scampered into the old bedroom no one used – apparently his great-grandmother had passed away in here or something. “Draco!” His mum called, light laughter on her voice. “I’m going to find you, my little Dragon!”_

_The five-year-old covered his mouth with his hands, trying to stifle his voice as his mother grew closer. “I can hear you, Draco…” She cooed as the door to the bedroom creaked open. Draco closed his eyes, trying his hardest not to be seen, pretending as though he was one of those colour-changing lizards his daddy had shown him in a big book from their archives._

_“Draco!” The blond little boy opened his eyes, startled by the shock and awe in his mother’s voice._

_“Mummy?”_

_“You’re blue, Draco!” He didn’t understand, but he looked down, squeaking when he saw that his skin was a pale cyan, matching the colour of the wallpaper behind him._

_“Oh, your first magic! Your father will be so proud!” Narcissa beamed as she reached down to hug her son, who squeezed right back, still not completely understanding._

Draco mused on the memory as he leaned back on his hands. Children could do wandless magic, couldn’t they? So why couldn’t adults? Well, except for Potter, of course. But then again, Potter seemed to be the exception to most rules.

“There is someone being here for Master Draco at the door, sir.” Blissy’s shrill voice suddenly cut through the dust and grime.

Draco sighed quietly, feeling the weight of his responsibilities resettle on his shoulders. “Very well, Blissy, show them to the parlour room. Oh, and make sure to tidy up in here.” Draco slowly got to his feet as the elf scurried out of the chamber. _Now who could be here to see me?_

Draco’s footsteps echoed in the dark hallway as he wondered if maybe Potter was mental enough that he’d forgotten their next meeting wasn’t until tomorrow. Draco reached the top of the grand staircase, his eyebrows rising in surprise at the dark-haired figure who glared at him from the foyer.

“’bout time you showed your face, you bitch.”

Draco grinned toothily. “And it’s good to see you too, Pansy.”

o

“Well?” Pansy asked when they were comfortably seated in the parlour, steaming cups of tea cradled in their hands.

Draco blinked at her. “’Well’ what?”

She pursed her lips. “Well, why the fuck haven’t you spoken to me since the Trials? It’s been weeks, Draco. I don’t appreciate you abandoning _me_ , your closest friend.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Don’t be such a drama queen, Parkinson–”

“That’s rich, coming from _you_.”

“Sod off. You know that things have been…complicated around here since then, with Father in France and Mother having to split her time between here and there.”

“He still isn’t talking to you?”

“Nope.” Draco took a sip of his now-lukewarm tea. He set down the cup with a light _clink_ , turning his head to look out one of the windows onto the destroyed grounds. “I just wish things could go back to the way they were, sometimes.”

Pansy smiled sadly, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I know. But, things can’t, so why dwell on them?” _Why indeed_ , Draco thought.

They were quiet for a long moment, both lost in their own reveries.

“Alright, Draco, I have to admit that guilt-tripping you about forgetting me is not the only reason I came today.” Pansy slipped a hand into the pocket of her black skirt, pulling out an off-white envelope. She watched Draco closely as she handed it over. “This came for me yesterday.”

Draco took the letter from her finely-manicured hands, eyebrows furrowing at the eerily familiar script on the front. He slipped out the paper, eyes widening. “’You have been invited back to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to complete your preparations for the N.E.W.T. examinations in May. If you will be attending in September, please write a response to Headmistress McGonagall by August 30th.’” Draco stared at the inky green lettering for a long while, feeling Pansy’s focused stare on the crown of his bent head. “What the fuck?” He finally whispered.

“I know. It’s crazy that they’re letting us come back to redo that last year.”

“No, it’s not that... Why the fuck did you get a letter but I didn’t?”

Pansy just looked back at him, surprised. A grandfather clock _ding_ -ed loudly in the distance as the shadows began to lengthen in the room.

“Maybe it’s because _I_ was never actually a Death Eater, Draco.”

Draco didn’t have a response to that.

o

Draco lay on the floor of the ballroom, limbs splayed out as he soaked in the chill of the marble into his warm skin. The texture of dry parchment still ghosted his fingertips. _How can Pansy get a letter but I can’t? I didn’t think McGonagall of all people would discriminate…_

Draco tilted his head back to watch the entrance, upside-down, when the _clack, clack_ of heavy footsteps approached the ballroom.

“…What are you doing.” It was a flat statement.

Draco glared at Potter from the floor, not even surprised that the bastard had seemingly broken into his home. “I don’t have to explain myself to you, Potter.” Draco checked his watch, an heirloom from his great-uncle. “You’re fifteen minutes late, as well.”

“We didn’t set a time for this, Malfoy. You should be thankful I’m here at all.”

Draco rolled his eyes, standing from his prone position. “Yes, _thankful_ , that’s what I am.” Draco raised his eyebrows at Potter’s outfit, only then noticing it. “Why are you dressed in full dress robes?”

“’I don’t have to explain myself to you,’” Potter said mockingly as he rolled the sleeves of his black robes up past his elbows, revealing toned, tanned forearms. _Well, looks like Potter has finally stopped being such a scrawny git._ In fact, now that Draco really took him in, Potter was looking _fit_. When had that happened? _Probably that year he was out saving the world and you were torturing Death Eaters under V-V…the Dark Lord…Well, he’s still a git._ “Alright, Malfoy let’s get this started, shall we?”

Draco blinked, pulled out of his memories. “Fine. Where shall we begin, O Chosen One?” Potter twitched in discomfort at the name, but didn’t comment. Draco smirked.

“Have you preformed any spells successfully since I last saw you?”

Draco tried not to squirm, palming the useless wand in his pocket. “One. I was able to mend a …valuable heirloom when I seemed to destroy it two nights ago.”

Potter narrowed his eyes. “Was this object important to you?”

Draco refused to flush. He would rather _crucio_ himself than admit that he’d been devastated when he’d found the disintegrating remains of the blanket he’d been given as a new-born, the dragon-decorated cloth containing so many memories from Draco’s innocent youth. He’d felt so relieved when the blanket had actually mended itself when he’d whispered the spell. Maybe this stupid wand was actually alright.

“…Yes.”

Potter nodded. “Alright, that makes sense.” Potter clapped his hands together, stepping forward to stand exactly opposite Draco. “Pull out your wand, Malfoy.” Draco complied, if a bit reluctantly. “Now throw it at me.”

Draco blinked before smiling violently. “Only too happy to, Potter.” Aiming for his face, Draco threw the stick. Potter grinned as it hit some sort of invisible barrier in front of his nose, disintegrating the wood into miniscule fragments of useless history. Draco gaped. “Potter! You just destroyed my wand!” Potter rolled his eyes.

“Whatever, Malfoy. You don’t need it any more than I need mine…Which is not at all, if that wasn’t clear.”

Draco stared at him. “Yes, because that was such a _tough_ riddle to crack,” he deadpanned as Potter glared slightly.

“Fuck off, Malfoy. It’s time for your lessons to really begin. After all, you’re going to be learning a completely different way of approaching magic.” Draco frowned, not liking the sound of that.

“And how did _you_ learn this way, exactly?”

Potter shrugged infuriatingly. “Taught myself. Wands don’t work for me that well anymore, either. According to some Healers - and Hermione - all this magical energy has been building in me and has become unstable – has something to do with being a Horcrux and reflecting too much Dark magic and stuff. I believe Hermione is writing her dissertation for her Healer training on it all, so ask her if you want more specifics.” Draco could do nothing more but look at this man, this unreal man who said such strange, horrifying things as though they were almost boring. _Which I guess they are, to him._

Potter clapped his hands together, a determined glint in his eyes. “So let’s start already.” Potter raised his right hand, his index finger and middle finger pressed together as he drew a curvy shape in front of his face. A long, white feather materialized out of the air, apparently Transfigured from the dust dancing about.

Draco blinked at the blasé way Potter showed off his ability, as though it wasn’t an astounding accomplishment in the slightest. Potter dropped the feather on the floor, stepping back. “Okay, Malfoy. Lift it.”

“What?” Surely Potter didn’t want him to just lean down and pick up the feather.

Potter was giving him that unimpressed look. “The first spell we learned in Charms was _wingardium leviosa_ , Malfoy. You are, in a sense, as unfamiliar with _this_ way of doing magic as we were with _that_ way of magic back then. So this is going to be the first spell you will learn wandlessly.”

“Fine. So how do I actually preform the spell? Do I have to use a specific finger? Do I require the same movements as the spell, or only the incantation?” Draco wanted Potter to feel just how awful a teacher he was being.

Potter merely shrugged again. Draco’s eye twitched dangerously. “I’m pretty sure it’s going to be different for you than it was for me. I use two fingers,” Potter raised his index finger and middle finger together, “because that seems to be easier to direct the spells for me. You do still use the same movements, so you’ll want to move your wrist in that same swish and flick way like with a wand.”

“I know how to do a simple Levitation Charm, Potter,” Draco snarled. “I don’t need your condescension.” Potter’s eyes narrowed, but didn’t respond; he simply crossed his arms and took another step back before gesturing to the mocking feather.

“Go on, then.”

Draco took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down before he raised his left hand, pointing his index finger at the light object. Clearing his mind, Draco breathed out gently through his nose before muttering the incantation.

The feather remained firmly on the floor.

Draco scowled, crossing his arms across his chest, tucking his worthless hands in the crooks of his body. _If Potter can do this damned spell without even batting an eyelash, why can’t I?_ Draco flicked his eyes up from the insulting feather, not surprised to find Potter staring at him, disinterested. “Yeah, that’s what I thought would happen.”

“Don’t mock me, Potter. Being nasty doesn’t fit your baby-kissing image.”

Potter snorted. “My contract with your mother said nothing about having to be nice to you, _Draco_ , so quit being such a prat. Now do the spell again and mean it.”

“’Mean’ it?”

Potter rolled his eyes. “I must not be speaking in Slytherin terms – put some goddamn feeling into that cold heart of yours and really want to lift that feather, as if the honour of your bloodline or some pureblood supremacy shit depends on it.”

Draco just stared back, unconvinced, but eventually turned his eyes back to the snow-white smudge sitting on his floor. “Fine.” Draco lowered his eyelids, opening that hatch he’d learned to keep closed since he was a child; the door to his emotions seemed weaker than normal, which made since, in a way. Supressed fear and other nameless bursts of intensity bubbled up in his chest, threatening to explode out of him. Draco’s eyes sprung open as he channeled all of his raw energy to his extended hand, concentrating solely on the feather.

“ _Wingardium leviosa!_ ” Static seemed to flow through Draco’s arm, raising the imperceptibly pale hairs on the outstretched limb. Draco couldn’t see the charm as it left his palm, but he could sense it. The feather twitched, as if rustled by an invisible draft of air. It seemed to jump a small bit before it settled back onto the ground.

Draco frowned heavily, disappointed. “Well, it seems the Force _is_ with you, young Jedi.” Potter muttered as he lifted a hand, Vanishing the feather.

Draco scrunched up his brow, not understanding. “Did you just insult me, Scarhead?”

Potter sighed, rubbing his forehead. “No, Ferret. It’s a Muggle allusion. But whatever: we seem to be making a little bit of progress.” A high, shrill noise suddenly emanated from Potter’s pocket, and he winced slightly. “Well, I need to be off then. See you next Wednesday.”

Draco nodded, still suspicious of Potter’s strange words and disappointed that his spell hadn’t worked perfectly on the first try. “Fine.”

Potter was nearly out of Draco vision when he ducked back into the ballroom’s entrance. “Oh, your homework for next week is to get that feather floating flawlessly. It’ll take years to get your magic under control if you don’t start doing some work on your own.”

“Just get out of my house already, Potter!” Draco glared at the condescending man’s back as he strolled away, leaving the him to himself. _Damn Potter and his smart-arse attitude. I’ll show him._

ooOoo

_Cold, unbearable cold. It seeped into his bones, burning a path of pain into his skin. Then fire, a heat so coarse and penetrating Draco knew it was melting his insides. There was laughter, shrill, cracking laughter that came from all directions, scarlet eyes that held an abyss of never-ending black, threatening to overtake Draco’s very sou–_

“NO!”

Draco’s eyes slammed open, only for him to wince them shut again as light blinded him. His heartbeat pounding uncomfortably in his chest, Draco forced himself to take deep breaths, averting his mind by recounting all that he needed to do that day: owl Mother, practice that damn spell, try to avoid the temptation of sending Potter a cursed letter – eventually his heart-rate slowed. Draco gently peaked open his eyes again, adjusting to the brightness of morning. He stared at his ceiling, suddenly dumbstruck.

Hundreds and hundreds of feathers stared back at him from their lofty perch.

o

After sending a quick owl to his mother, filled with meaningless words about how ‘well’ his lesson with Potter had gone and how things were peaceful around the Manor, Draco made his way to the Malfoy library, the high-domed labyrinth of bookshelves and lore a favourite haunting from Draco’s youth.

Dust billowed from the room as Draco pushed open the ornately-decorated doors. He coughed, correctly guessing that the room was low on Blissy’s priorities now that she was the only house-elf under the Malfoys' jurisdiction.

Fuzzy, intangible sunlight spilled into the room from the dominating windows lining the wall across from the entrance, illuminating the sparse signs of absentee inhabitants: a pile of well-loved, faded books by one of the three olive-coloured settees; a handsome fireplace sitting unlit, looking as though its great mouth was yawning; a glass of sticky bourbon, forgotten long ago by a brooding thinker. Draco passed all of these by, heading to the back left corner of the library, where the few texts regarding magical children were hidden.

Pulling off a few large volumes, and a few bare wisps of books, Draco settled on the rich, wooden floor, leaning back against one of the shelves as he began his pursuit of knowledge.

o

“Draco? Your elf said you were in here after I forced her to let me in.”

Draco blinked rapidly, only beginning to feel the stiffness of his back and the strain of his eyes from delving into too many works. “Pansy?” Draco coughed, his voice rough with dust and disuse: the sunlight was gone, replaced by dusky shades of red and violet.

Pansy’s head popped out from behind one of the shelves, peering down at Draco with amusement. “I can remember when we used to play catch-the-Mudblood in here; you were always better at it than me.” Draco smiled weakly, memories of competition, laughter, and naivety ghosting through is mind, as foreign as if they were from another life. He shrugged in response, a faint sense of mistrust rising in him when Pansy gracefully settled next to him on the floor, scrutinising his books curiously.

“ _So Your Child’s a Wizard_? Draco, is there something you need to tell me?” Pansy’s voice was laced with humour, with the mildest tint of concern.

Draco rolled his eyes, standing to return the volumes back to their places. “Just a little research, Pans. Nothing to worry about.” She raised an eyebrow at him, unconvinced.

“Fine. I’m not here to talk about your weird reading habits, anyways. Have you heard from McGonagall yet?”   

“…No. Why would I? I thought we reached the conclusion that Hogwarts wasn’t going to be sending me anything.”

“Well, we did, but… Theo, Blaise, and Greg got theirs too.”

Draco paused.

“Really.” It wasn’t a question. He resumed putting the books away. “Seems like I’m the only one to not receive an invitation back to that bloody school then; good, it’s not like I wanted to return to that hell-hole anyways.”

Pansy leant against a shelf, crossing her arms against the front of her black robes. “…Right.”

Draco ignored the knowing tone in her voice.

ooOoo

“ _Wingardium leviosa._ ”

Nothing.

“ _Wingardium leviosa!_ ”

Barely even a flutter.

“ _WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!_ ”

The feather laughed at him.

Draco’s eye twitched, his fingers twisting into a fist as he stared at the lone object sitting on the ballroom floor. _You have to_ mean _it, Ferret_ , Potter’s voice said in his mind. _Fuck off_ , he told the aggravating mirage.

But Draco tried, closing his eyes and raising his hand to point his fingers at the feather. He tried pinpointing the most volatile part of his emotions – _Theo, Blaise and Greg got theirs too… My contract with your mother said nothing about having to be nice to you, Draco, so quit being such a prat… You don’t deserve to be called a Malfoy, not with that disgusting way of living…_ – and felt the liquid heat boil in his chest. He then stared at the feather with startlingly potent intensity.

“ _Wingardium leviosa_ ,” he muttered, knowing somewhere in his bones that the spell was going to work perfectly as mild shocks ran down his outstretched arm.

And it did work perfectly: the feather drifted lazily to the ceiling, following the movements of Draco’s hand. He laughed, feeling the first real rush of accomplishment in a long time.

Draco proceeded to lift all of the objects he could find in the hallways around the ballroom, feeling as though he’d finally found the answer to this wandless magic: fury. And lots of it.

ooOoo

To be Continued…

ooOoo


	3. Lesson Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late! :P

o

Lesson Three

o

Draco grinned smugly as the chair floated weightlessly into the air, casting a shadow on Potter’s body. “Well, seems you’ve learned that one,” Potter finally said. “Let’s move on, then.”

Draco felt crestfallen for a small moment, disappointed at Potter’s lack of enthusiasm for his pupil’s progress, but then the Slytherin berated himself. _Why should I care if Potter cares? Because I don’t_. “Fine. What spell is next, Professor Potter?” Draco sneered mockingly, something continuing to sting when Potter didn’t even raise an eyebrow at the jab.

“Let’s do _accio_ next.”

“Why that one?”

“Because it’s helped me in many bad situations, Malfoy, and I like the charm.” Potter help out his hand, a crash sounding far off in the bowels of the house before the doors to the ballroom sprung open and a small book came soaring through the air, landing in Potter’s palm. Potter smirked slightly. “You still have a copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_?” Draco glared at him. “Well, go on then, Summon it.”

Draco’s mouth twitched into a mean smile. The anger was easier to find this time, considering such a wonderful source of inspiration was standing right in front of him. “ _Accio!_ ” Draco said as he held out his palm. He grinned sharply, showing all of his bright, even teeth, when the book flew right into his hand, and he enjoyed watching Potter’s eyebrow rise in surprise. “This isn’t so hard, Potter.”

Potter was quiet for a while, watching Draco with narrowed eyes. “What were you thinking when you cast that spell?” Potter rolled his eyes when Draco just blinked back at him blankly. “What were you feeling? What sort of emotions?”

Draco’s heart skipped a beat in panic for some reason. _How did he know so quickly?_ Draco wondered whether to tell the truth, or come up with some snarky response. “…Anger, mostly.” He blinked, surprised with himself.

Potter frowned. “That’s what I thought.” He sighed, rubbing a hand wearily across his forehead. The action made him seem older than his years. Draco felt some sort of self-deprecating emotion when Potter’s green eyes met his again. “You can’t fuel every spell with anger, Malfoy. It’s too unstable, not to mention that it doesn’t last very long.”

“Well, it’s worked so far, Potter. What makes you so sure I can’t continue to make it produce satisfactory results?”

“I just know, Malfoy!” Potter said sharply, almost yelling. Draco tensed in surprise, ready for a fight. Potter took a deep breath, tapping his fingers against his leg in what Draco guessed was an anger-management technique. “So, to prove this to you, we’ll try a spell that can’t be summoned with anger: the Patronus Charm.”

Draco frowned, a small bit of self-loathing seeping into his chest. “I couldn’t do a Patronus Charm _with_ a wand, Potter. There’s no way I could do it now.”

Potter grimaced, a strange mix of a hateful smile and a pitying glare. “Well, that’s what I’m here for, Malfoy.”

o

“Again!”

Draco racked his brain, trying to think of any glimmer of happiness that might be strong enough to defeat the shimmering mirage of a Dementor that floated a few metres in front of him. Bright flashes of early Hogwarts days briefly lit up his mind, but extinguished themselves quickly as the dark, looming figure of sixth year shadowed them all.

“Now, Malfoy!”

Draco gritted his teeth, rage welling up in him. He randomly thought of the day he’d been Sorted, that flush of pride that had filled him when the raggedy hat had called out ‘Slytherin!’ – but thoughts of his father suddenly swarmed the memory. _But Father doesn’t love me anymore, not like he did back then…_

“Damnit, Malfoy, do the bloody spell!”

Something in Draco snapped. “ _STUPEFY!_ ” Potter went soaring through the air, his body slamming against the glass windows with a dull, slightly sickening _thud_. Draco stared at Potter’s crumpled form, then at his hands. He suddenly burst out laughing, the giggles boarding on hysterical.

Potter groaned, picking himself off of the floor, glaring at the sniggering blonde. “What the fuck, Malfoy?”

Draco slowly stopped laughing, wiping his eyes. Something felt settled in his chest. “You deserved it, Potter. And you’re certainly giving me plenty of fodder to use for all of these spells.”

“You’re not supposed to be using anger, Malfoy! One day it won’t work, and you’ll get someone seriously hurt!” Draco sobered immediately, his curiosity piqued as he looked into those enraged green eyes.

“Are you speaking from experience, Potter?” The dark-haired man didn’t reply, but his aversion of his gaze was as good as an answer. “I see.”

“No, you don’t _see_ , Malfoy, so just shut up and do the goddamn spell.”

“It’s a little hard to be fucking happy when you stand there shouting at me! You’re a worse teacher than my Aunt Bella!”

“…Did you just compare me to Bellatrix Lestrange?”

“Yes. And, trust me, it’s an accurate comparison.” Draco expected some sort of curse, maybe a punch across the face if Potter was feeling particularly barbaric. He didn’t expect Potter’s weary sigh, or the unclenching of the imposing body.

“Alright, I’ll admit I’m being an arse. Let’s start over, shall we?” Draco blinked, a little suspicious and bemused. Potter suddenly stuck out his hand, “Hullo, I’m Harry Potter. Nice to meet you.”

Draco stared at the weathered, scarred palm, the faint lines of ‘I must not tell lies’ etched on the back. “I’m not sure we can go back that far, Potter.” The Chosen One looked upset for a split second before smirking sadly.

“Yeah, I guess you’re ri–”

“But I suppose we can try,” Draco cut him off, reaching out to grasp the warm hand in his own chilly one. “Salutations, Harry Potter. I’m Draco Malfoy.” Potter was clearly shocked, his grip loose for a long moment before he squeezed Draco’s much softer hand right back.

Draco couldn’t help but notice how charming Potter’s crooked smile was.

o

“Okay, so how does this work now that we’re…acquaintances?” Draco sat on the black marble countertops in the Manor’s spacious kitchen, watching Potter take in the opulent elegance of the room. The pureblood sipped at his tea, kicking his expensive shoes against the cabinets in a child-like manner that his mother would’ve reprimanded him for.

Potter shrugged, leaning against the dual ovens. “The same, I suppose. Except I’ll try not to be such an arse and you have to try not to be such a prat.”

“What a great way to start off our acquaintanceship, Potter,” Draco glared at the man, who only grinned in reply before sipping his own cuppa. The two men sat in a companionable silence, both jumping in surprise when a sharp whistle rang through the air of the kitchen, and a small door in the corner was flung open.

Blissy froze at the sight of her master and Potter. “M-Master Draco is needing Blissy, sir?”

“Oh, not at all, Blissy. We just came in for some tea. Potter, meet Blissy, our house-elf.”

Potter grinned, leaning down to hold out a hand for Blissy to shake. Her whole body began to tremble in awe. “H-Harry Potter, sir! Blissy is hearing amazing things, sir! Blissy’s friend, Hemmy, is being at Hogwarts during the Battle, sir!”

“Oh, well, thank you, Blissy. Sorry if we’re in your way in here.”

“Not at all, Harry Potter, sir! Blissy is going now, sir! Lunch is being ready soon, Mister Harry Potter and Master Draco!” The house-elf scurried out the door, leaving an amused pair of men in her wake.

“Gosh, you make all the girls blush, don’t you, Potter?”

Potter rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Sod off, Malfoy.” The Gryffindor turned up the sleeve of his simple black shirt, frowning slightly as he glanced at his watch. “Well, I suppose I should be going. I’ll see you next Wednesday,” Potter said with an encouraging smile.

“Right. Unless –” Potter raised his eyebrows in question. Draco cleared his throat, hopping off the counter before continuing. “The day after tomorrow is the summer solstice and I suppose we could continue our quest for acquaintanceship by celebrating it together.”

Potter blinked. “You celebrate the summer solstice?”

“You don’t?” Draco was flabbergasted. “Potter, it’s only the second-biggest holiday of the year for wizarding kind!”

“Oh, well, I’ve never celebrated it before.”

“It’s fun. We go dancing naked in the fields under the light of hundreds of fairies.”

Potter’s mouth gaped.

Draco sniggered. “I’m joking, Potter! It’s actually a really fascinating day, considering most magical plants are more potent during that period, so potions can work wonders as well. We also light a giant bonfire at the end of the day – according to Muggle lore, it’s supposed to ward off dragons and witches and all sorts of magical creatures, not to mention you can jump over it to keep witches away.” Draco shrugged, an ironic smile on his face. “The fire really does nothing but look wicked.” Draco paused, wondering if he forgot anything. “Oh! There are also a bunch of rituals you can do to look into the future and increase fertility and stuff. Apparently Seers make most of their money tomorrow.”

Potter looked impressed. “Wow. I wonder why I’ve never heard of this before.”

“Well, didn’t you live with a Muggle family during most of your summers? I thought I heard that somewhere.”

Potter’s face twisted slightly, and the conversation was over. “Well, thanks for the invitation, Malfoy. I don’t think I have any plans, but I’ll have to see.” Draco felt put-out for some reason.

“Ah, very well. If you so desire, show up here sometime after noon on the 21st – all the celebrations really start at dusk, but you have to prepare.” Potter nodded once before sharing a small smile, then he walked out the door.

Draco wondered why he was hoping that Potter would spend tomorrow night with him.

_How odd._

ooOoo

“Well?”

“What?”

“Love, don’t act obtuse, it’s not flattering.” Draco sat his cup down on the table, trying to supress his annoyed sigh. He looked over at Blaise, who only shrugged, unwilling to come between the two.

“Pansy, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he lied. He didn’t meet her blazing eyes, instead staring out at the budding flowers surrounding them, feeling the warm sunlight streaming through the conservatory roof on his face.

“Yes, you do – I know that you’re hiding something from me! You have that weird glow to your cheeks and everything. You’re even wearing your _nancy-boy shoes_ , Draco,” she declared as though that proved her theory. Draco looked down at his white loafers, the silver buckle shining happily in the light. _Nancy-boy shoes?_

“So look me in the eyes and try to tell me that you’re not shagging anyone right now.” Draco leaned forward in his chair to stare completely at Pansy. Blaise snorted lightly next to her, watching the two silently.

“I. Am. Not. Shagging. Anyone. Happy?” Pansy pouted, distinctly unhappy.

“Fine. I still don’t believe you, but I’ll let it go.” _Right_. Like Pansy even possessed the ability to ‘let things go.’ “So, are you coming over tomorrow for the Solstice? Daddy’s ordering some Chinese wizards to perform a fireworks show.”

Draco’s heart skipped a beat. “No, sorry, Pans. I’m staying here tomorrow.”

“You sure, Dray-Dray? You shouldn’t celebrate the Solstice all alone,” Blaise piped up.

“Call me ‘Dray-Dray’ again and I’ll disembowel you. And, yes, I’m sure. I should stick around in case Mother fire-calls me.” It was a lame excuse, even to Draco’s ears, but his two closest friends accepted it, changing the subject to less pressing matters.

“So, Pansy says that you still haven’t gotten your Hogwarts letter.” It wasn’t a question, so Draco didn’t respond, but something acrimonious bit at the back of his throat. “Do you want us to owl someone about it? It’s not right, you know. She can’t discriminate against you like this.”

Draco sighed. “Of course she can, Blaise. I was a _Death Eater_ – the world can do anything it bloody likes to me now, and I have no power to stop them.” Draco smiled coldly.

“After all, a war never really ends for those who lost.”

ooOoo

Draco woke up on the 21st bursting with energy, a rare occurrence for the eighteen-year-old. He jumped out of bed, quickly bathed, then spent the next two hours trying to pick out the right outfit. Typical.

Finally happy with his choices (a tight but comfortable set of black trousers and a thinly striped jumper for the unusually cool summer), Draco bounded to the back entrance of the Manor, taking a deep breath of the dry, pleasantly warm air as he stepped onto the terrace.

“Time to get to work, then,” he flashed a boyish smile at the unresponsive gardens.

o

As shadows began to lengthen, Draco couldn’t help but raise his hopes every time Blissy would pass in front of him, something inside his chest feeling let down when there were no new visitors. The sky faded into glorious coral pinks, clementine oranges, and lilac purples, and Draco’s mood couldn’t help but souring.

_So I ended up spending Solstice alone, it’s not_ that _embarrassing_ , he tried to argue to himself, unsuccessfully. As the sun finally hid under the skyline, Draco sighed, heading out to the large bonfire he’d erected in the clearing behind the Manor.

The crisp, welcoming air ruffled the tousled, work-strewn hairs on his head, and blew the smells of the outdoors into his face. The Malfoy heir stood on the stone pathway, staring at the large chunks of ceremonial wood that lay in the marble alcove his ancestors had built just for this holiday. Draco took a long swing of the Firewhiskey in his hand, aching memories of charring bodies flickering across his mind.

“Fuck,” he cursed as the liquid burned down his throat, making his eyes water; he’d never been much of a drinker. As ambitious crickets began welcoming the night around him, Draco held out his empty hand, filling his thoughts with the bitter tang of disappointment and self-directed loathing. “ _Incendio!_ ” Flames licked at the kindling, similar heat lapping at Draco’s insides as he took another drink from the bottle in his hand.

“I thought I told you to stop casting spells with anger.” Draco jumped, stumbling an infinitesimal amount when he turned to face the voice.

“Potter! You…” Draco didn’t finish the sentence. _You scared me? You actually showed up?_ Neither one was good, so Draco just blinked at the unamused-looking man. He mentally collected himself under the gaze of those green irises, clearing his throat. “Yes, well, I wasn’t feeling particularly joyous, so anger just seemed easier.”

Potter’s brow furrowed as he pulled his hands out of the pockets of his Oxford pullover, raising them in a reasoning gesture. “Malfoy, that’s not the point. You shouldn’t use anger simply because it’s _easy_ ; just because an option is easy doesn’t mean it’s the best or right way to do something.” Draco sighed, bored with this argument.

He held out the half-empty bottle to Potter, lifting an eyebrow. “Drink, Potter? Sounds like you need one.” Potter simply glared at him for a long moment, his famous, attractive face cast in the shadows of the dying sunlight.

Then the man sighed. “Fine. Thanks, Malfoy. I guess I am in the mood to get pissed,” he admitted as he took the bottle, the rich brew filling his mouth. He silently passed it back to Draco.

“So…Solstice, huh? What do we do now?”

Draco shrugged lightly, feeling pliable. “If you were a young maiden we could do some rituals to look into the future and see your husband, or if you wanted to increase your fertility I could make a really powerful potion; but most wizarding families simply feast and socialize and celebrate.” Draco smiled into the indulgent firelight that was slowly but surely becoming the main light source. “When I was a child, my parents would throw famously formal Solstice galas: my mother would get out her black diamonds, my father would spend hours creasing his robes perfectly, and when the sun set I’d be forced into painfully pristine dress robes for a seven-year-old, and I’d be told to keep them clean at all costs.” He chuckled fondly at the warm memory. “But somehow, every time, I’d end up with stains all over my clothes from sneaking around with Pansy and Theo throughout the night, stealing food from the house-elves and playing games in the gardens.”

Crickets hummed in the background, and the fire crackled merrily in the middle of the extensive grounds. “But I suppose that was a long time ago.”

“Well, it sounds like you had some fun times,” Potter finally added, gesturing for another share of the Firewhiskey. Draco nodded, his smile widening as Potter winced at a particularly strong sip of the alcohol. “But I don’t suppose we could steal food and play all night now.”

Draco blinked at the man’s wistful tone. The liquid courage in Draco’s gut blazed through him suddenly. “…And why not?”

“Huh?”

Daring coursed through Draco’s veins as he turned to fully face his confused acquaintance. “Why can’t we act like children tonight, Potter? It’s the Solstice, for Merlin’s sake, and we’re only eighteen.”

“Seventeen,” Potter interjected.

“Be quiet. Anyways, why can’t we? It’s not like anyone can tell us otherwise!” Draco felt powerful, confident as he watched Potter mull the idea over. He was on the right edge of light-headed, and anything seemed possible.

“Alright, Malfoy,” Potter finally said as a slow smirk crept across his lips. “Let’s be seven-year-old kids again. Show me what to do,” he gestured with an open palm, one hand still grasping the source of their courage.

Draco beamed.

o

“Wait, what exactly we playin’, again?” Potter slurred quietly from his crouched position next to Draco. The blonde peered over the dying hedge, his silvery-blond hair shining in the moonlight and the glow of the bonfire metres away.

“For the _third_ time, Potter, it’s called Catch-the-Mud…gleborn, so shush.”

“’Mudgleborn?’ What’s a Mudgleborn?” Potter smirked up at Draco, who pouted.

“Fuck off! And…wait a moment, you’re supposed to be hiding, Potter! After all, this round you’re the –”

“Mudgleborn?” Potter innocently finished for him. The two men burst out laughing, Draco clutching the spindly limbs of the hedge for balance while Potter slouched onto the yellow-tinged grass underneath him. “Fuck, we’re shitfaced, huh?” Potter gasped for breath on the lawn.

Draco sniffed condescendingly before stealing the almost-empty bottle of Firewhiskey from Potter’s grasp. “I have no idea to what you are referring to, Potter. I am not sloshed in the slightest,” he specified before finishing the whole lot.

“That rhymes!” Potter hiccupped hysterically. Draco giggled before plopping down on the ground with his once-enemy, staring up at the velvety sky. The moon smirked down judgementally, while its shining cronies laughed at him. Okay, so maybe he was plastered.

Draco yawned widely, reaching up to rub his eyes in a child-like manner. “Wha’timeisit?” He mumbled aloud. Potter didn’t respond, his eyes staring up at those same stars, no doubt seeing something different from Draco.

“Ya know, I was runnin’ from Voldie for so long, yet I never sat down and just stared at the stars – it’s beautiful,” Potter whispered into the blanketing night, causing Draco to look at the man’s profile curiously.

Draco’s arm reached out, his hand landing firmly on Potter’s forehead. “Oi! Whaddafuck, M’foy?” Potter’s muffled, irritated voice came from underneath Draco’s palm as he shoved it off his face, fixing his smudged, crooked glasses.

Draco shrugged, unrepentant. “’as just checkin’ you were real.”

“Huh?”

But Draco didn’t elaborate, merely soaked in the sensation of prickly, tickling grass brushing his exposed neck, ankles, and toes. Where had his shoes gone, exactly?

“Do’ya ever miss the war, M’foy?” Draco blinked hard, staring unseeingly at the sky as screams echoed in his mind and he could feel blood on his hands.

“I miss the time ‘fore it,” Draco whispered truthfully, tearing up grass in his hands.

Potter grunted. “Yeah, me too. It w’all so _simple_ , ya’know?”

“Exactly! Maybe y’do have a brain in that skull of ‘ours, Potty.”

“Shut up, Ferret.” Draco simply grinned as his eyelids descended over his vision, heaviness invading all of his limbs.

“I’m sleepy,” the heir declared to the world before curling up on his side and pillowing his head into his arms. The last thing the boy heard was Potter’s soft “’night, Malfoy” before he was fast asleep.

ooOoo

To be Continued…

ooOoo


	4. Lesson Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dangit, I keep posting these late! Sorry!

o

Lesson Four

o

“-ster Draco, sir! Master Draco, sir! There is being a red man at the door, sir!”

Draco grumbled sleepily as he slowly began to register his five senses. What the hell was that taste in his mouth? “’Red man’?” He repeated confusedly as he opened his eyes, squinting at the piercing light, a harsh throbbing in the back of his skull.

Blissy blinked up at him from beside the bed, looking anxious. “Yes, sir! There is being a red man, sir! He is saying he is needing to be seeing Harry Potter, sir! He is saying he is being a Weezly, sir!” Draco frowned, rubbing dried saliva off his cheek. _Why is Weasley here?_ _And why am I wearing my clothes from yesterday while lying in bed?_            

 _And_ what _is that warmth pressed against my knee?_

“Wha’timeis’t?”

_Ah._

“Damnit, Potter, wake up! And why the hell are you in my bed?” Draco yelped indignantly as he scrambled out of his silk sheets, suddenly very glad that he was still wearing his outfit from the Solstice. The sleepy saviour of the wizarding world glared as he sat up, his glasses skewed dangerously and his hair an even more extreme mess than normal.

“How the hell would I know, Malfoy? It’s your bed!”

“That doesn’t make this my problem!” Draco argued hysterically as he frantically tried to straighten his hair. “And apparently your Weasel is trying to force his way into my house, no doubt looking for you, so get your arse out of here!” Potter looked confused for a moment, then very resigned.

“Right.” Potter stood, straightening his rumpled clothes and running a hand through the hopeless nest of bed-head. “Well, I’d say ‘thanks’ for having me over for the night if you weren’t being so bloody rude, so see you, Malfoy.”

Potter stormed out of Draco’s sunlit bedroom, leaving Blissy and her master behind. Draco stared at the open doorway for a long moment before sighing. _Grow up, Draco. You’re trying_ not _to antagonize Potter, remember?_

“Potter, wait!” Draco called out from the top of the stairs as he chased after his irate guest-acquaintance-tutor-person. Potter stopped at the bottom of the flight, his tense back facing Draco. The Slytherin slowed, tentatively approaching his once-enemy as though nearing an angry animal. “Look, I…apologize. It was just a little unsettling to wake up with the Chosen One sleeping next to you, especially the morning after the Solstice.”

Potter turned slightly, looking over his shoulder with those sharp, green eyes. “Why ‘especially the morning after the Solstice’?”

Draco blinked. “Well, the Solstice is known for its…sensual correlations, so shagging with strangers is pretty common. Just never really thought I’d be sharing an awkward morning after with Harry Potter himself.”

Potter frowned, but it was softer around the edges. He puffed out a deep breath. “Yeah, alright, Malfoy, I understand. And thanks, I guess, for supplying all the drinks and shit last night – it was a pretty good Solstice, from what I remember,” Potter said with a reassuring smile, reaching out to pat a warm hand onto Draco’s bony shoulder.

“-TO SAVE YOU, MATE!” Ron Weasley yelled with righteous anger as the front doors finally gave way to his spells, blasting open forcefully. Draco and Potter blinked at Weasley, who blinked back, mouth agape. Draco was immediately hyperaware of Potter’s hand still spreading warmth into his chest, and the way that the two of them looked rather dishevelled in an easily misunderstood way. “Harry?” Weasley asked weakly, his wand hand twitching with indecision.

Potter cleared his throat, awkwardly stepping back from Draco and stowing his hand in his pocket. “Ron. Some reason you’re breaking into Malfoy’s house at eight in the morning?”

Weasley gawked for another moment until he snapped his mouth closed and glared at Potter. “We tried visiting your place last night, mate, but you were gone. Ginny was worried sick, Harry; and here I find you…shacking up with _Malfoy_?” Weasley’s voice rose in outrage as Potter winced slightly, while Draco tried to fade quietly into the white wallpaper behind him.

“I’m not ‘shacking up’ with anyone, Ron, don’t be rid–”

A loud _CRACK!_ sounded from outside the swinging front doors. “Ron! I told you not to come here until I heard – Oh, hi, Harry, Malfoy.” Hermione Granger blinked in surprise as she stepped into the Manor’s foyer. Draco winced internally. _Great, now the gang’s all here._

“Hermione, they were…touching and stuff!” Weasley whined with outrage as Potter choked on argumentative noises behind him. Granger’s eyebrows rose into her bushy brown hair and Draco pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingertips, trying to ward off a headache.

“Weasley, Potter and I are _not_ shag–”

“I am not cheating on your sister with _Malfoy_ , Ron! The idea that –”

Draco and Potter both began severely spouting their arguments, with Granger watching them both with a calculating glint in her eye. She held up a hand for silence, which the men in the room obeyed. “Look, Ron, I’m sure Harry has a perfectly good reason for why we are finding him here on a day other than a Wednesday,” _Potter told them about the lessons?_   “and we should listen to his explanation. Harry?”

All eyes turned to Potter, who stared at his two closest friends, speechless for a while. “Well,” he finally began weakly, “Malfoy invited me to spend Solstice here, and I wanted to know how wizarding families celebrated it, so…”

“ _We’re_ a wizarding family! Why would you spend such a backward holiday with someone like Malfoy?” Weasley sneered with distaste, as though Draco wasn’t in the room. The Slytherin could feel angry, boiling blood rise to his cheeks.

“It’s not a ‘backward holiday,’ Ron, and I think it was kind of Draco to invite Harry over for the Solstice. I’m sure this falls into their contract of trying to be civil – an example you should try to imitate,” Granger finished pointedly, glaring softly at her boyfriend, who looked cowed. “However, Harry,” she turned her all-knowing eyes on her guilty-looking comrade, “it was a bad idea to simply vanish without a word – especially when Ron is prone to paranoia about Draco murdering you or something.”

Potter looked contrite, rubbing a hand through the fly-away hairs climbing down the top of his neck. “Yeah, alright. Sorry,” the Saviour of wizarding Britain mumbled quietly, acting as though he was a child caught eating biscuits before supper. Granger nodded, smiling slightly before she turned her eyes to Draco.

She cleared her throat, awkwardness finally starting to impact the brains of the Golden Trio, apparently. “Well, we’re sorry for impeding on your hospitality like this, Malfoy. Ron and I will just go now.” Weasley looked as though he wanted to argue that point, but a quick look from Granger and he was quiet.

The two turned and made their way out of the broken front entrance, the buddings of a disagreement floating through the air before they Disapparated away.

The Manor was quiet once again.

“…They’re at the ‘fight or fuck’ phase of their relationship,” Potter finally stated, staring after his departed friends.

Draco winced. “I did not need to know about Granger and Weasley’s sexual proclivities, Potter.”

Potter turned a wry smile on him. “Yeah, I wish I didn’t know.” He shuddered good-naturedly before returning his hands in his bedraggled pockets. “Well, I suppose I’ll see you on Wednesday, right?”

“…Right,” Draco confirmed, sharing an odd little smile with Potter before he was heading in the same direction as his friends.

Potter turned right before he was out of sight. “Don’t forget to practice your Patronus, Malfoy – I’ll know if you slack off!”

“Get off my land, Potter!” But Draco was failing at containing his grin, and Potter laughed as he Disapparated.

Draco purposely didn’t think about the warm flicker in the pit of his stomach.

ooOoo

“…Can you produce a Patronus?”

Pansy looked up from where she was gracefully spread across the antique couch, filing her nails with a charm she’d invented herself. Hot, late-June sunlight fell into the library, the place Draco had been spending more and more time lately as he delved into the complexities of magical theory and its relation to wandless abilities.

“Yeah. Daddy had a tutor come in and teach me before sixth year.” The girl curled her mouth into a poisonous grin. “He was a good shag too. But, yeah, he eventually got around to teaching me.”

“What does yours look like?”

“…If you weren’t my best friend, that question would be too personal to answer.”

Draco lifted his eyes from the text he’d been staring at unseeingly, interest piqued at Pansy’s warning tone. “Really? Why?” Pansy rolled her eyes at her clueless companion.

“Sometimes I wonder how people think you’re so smart, Dray-Dray.” Draco pouted mockingly at her, still expecting an answer. The other Slytherin sighed dramatically, as was their way. “A person’s Patronus represents the embodiment of all of the positive qualities of that individual – don’t you see how asking what someone’s soul looks like might be a little personal?”

Draco pondered this a while before nodding. “Yeah, I understand. Are you going to tell me what yours looks like yet?”

Pansy frowned a little before pointing her wand next to the couch, whispering the incantation before a great, shining mass began to expand out of the end of the cherry-coloured wood. The alligator blinked one of its luminescent eyes at Draco before snapping its jaw at him. Draco blinked in surprise.

“You’re a…crocodile.”

Pansy scowled defensively as the beast faded away. “An _alligator_ , so back off if you don’t want me to bite you.” Draco grinned at her sulky silhouette as she sunk back down into her sprawl on her seat, moodily beginning to file her nails again.

Draco dropped the subject, knowing when to not prod his friend, and turned back to the tome propped up against his legs:

“ _Recent studies (see Anecdote 201 for more details to Briar and Hankins’s results (1845), and the trials of Professor Juntley (1899)) show that a strong correlation between childhood magical expression (CME) and high emotional statuses. This researcher theorises that stronger emotions like love, hatred and terror can lead to extreme cases of CME, as cases have shown some with as high of a level of power as those of a class three wizard (See Arkens’_ The Wizard Within _, 1902 and Gergun’s_ The Ages of Misteri _, 1589). (See Anecdote 34 for more details regarding the classification of wizarding power levels and the recent literature related.)_ ”

Draco frowned at the yellowing pages of text, the scrawl blurring as his thoughts drifted. If it seemed as though children could perform wandless magic more strongly with more intense emotions like anger, why was Potter constantly blathering on about how rage was the wrong motivation? Wouldn’t these spells remain more difficult to enact as long as Draco was attempting to remain calm while casting them?

“Well, darling, I can tell I’ve lost you to the words again, so I’m leaving.” Pansy stood, walking over and pressing a dainty kiss to Draco’s cheek before she was heading out the door. “But one of these days you are going to tell me what you have been so focused on these past weeks,” she warned as she faded out of sight.

Draco grimaced at her back. At least that day wasn’t today.

ooOoo

“So…talked to your dad recently?” Draco turned his head to glare at Theo, his dark-haired companion staring at him with sympathy.

“No, I haven’t, Nott, so just leave it alone.” Theo raised his hands in surrender, plopping down on his back next to Draco on the bed. The two ex-Housemates stared at the artistic rendering of the Manor on the ceiling.

“Are you going back?” Draco quietly asked the air. Theo knew what he meant.

“Yeah. I need those N.E.W.T.s if I’m going to get a good job somewhere… Not to mention Auntie would _crucio_ me if I didn’t.” Draco’s head twitched into a small nod. Envy and resentment bubbled in his abdomen.

“Draco, why don’t you just contact McGonagall? She might–”

“Don’t feed me bullshit like Pans or Blaise, Theo. We know each other too well to do that,” Draco pointed out heatedly, twisting his fingers in his black duvet. Theo stared at him with searching eyes before nodding tightly.

“Yeah, you’re right. Sorry.” Draco grumbled forgiveness. “I just hate the idea of you being holed up here in the Manor while the rest of us return to Hogwarts.”

“You know, staying here is probably easier than going back. You do realize your lives are going to be hell, right? Especially for people like you and me.” Draco reached over, pulling up Theo’s sleeve to reveal the tip of the Mark on his forearm.

Theo’s mouth twisted cynically. “Yeah. But how will things ever change if we stay hidden away all the time? I paid my debts, Draco. I don’t have any reason to be ashamed of my choices anymore.” Theo reached over to touch Draco’s Mark, but the blonde pulled his arm away, not making eye contact with his now-frowning friend.

“…Do we need to talk about something, Draco?”

Draco turned his head to narrow his eyes at Theo. “Like what?”

“Like how you seem to hiding yourself in here, or how you’re still acting as though you’re guilty for all of the things that happened in the war? _Or_ how you seem to be pulling away from your friends? Even _me_!”

“No, we don’t need to talk. About anything.” Draco restarted his staring contest with the wall so that he wouldn’t have to see Theo’s disappointed expression.

“…Fine.” Draco felt the bed shift as Theo regained his balance on the floor. “Draco.” The boy sat up, finally making eye-contact. “You should – no, you _need_ to talk to someone. About Hogwarts, and about everything else. Even if that someone isn’t me.” Theo said earnestly before leaning down to press a kiss to Draco’s mouth. Draco turned his head at the last moment, so Theo’s gentle lips brushed the soft skin of his cheek instead.

Theo straightened, regarding Draco’s flushed face with an intrigued look. The two had kissed each other good-bye ever since they’d dated back in fifth year, even after they’d split up months after; it was a simple sign of intimacy that two people who knew so much about the other could do easily. “Draco are you…dating someone?” Theo asked with a grin.

Draco whipped his head to scowl at the other boy, opening his mouth to protest before closing it again. His cheeks felt hot as Theo laughed at him. “NO, I am not, Theodore! So stop laughing!”

“Oh Merlin, this is too precious. Little Dray-Dray, arse over tit for some poor bloke! Oh, I never took you as one for monogamy, Draco,” Theo giggled hysterically as he kneeled over, resting his hands on his kneecaps. Draco got up on his knees, leaning over to forcefully push Theo’s bent body, causing the taller boy to fall onto his arse. He still laughed from his sprawled position.

“Well, who is it?” Draco glowered.

“I’m not seeing anyone!”

“Come on, tell me! I promise I won’t tell Pansy,” Theo said with a seductive grin that had once caused Draco to melt inside.

“No! I’m not!”

“Well, at least tell me it’s a bloke, right? You’re not going through another sexual crisis, right?” Theo pulled a face, remembering the last one vividly.

“Yes, it’s – I mean, I’m not dating anyone!” Draco floundered as Theo laughed delightedly. Draco raised his hand, feeling the _thump_ of his heart and the adrenaline rushing through his system. He murmured a quick incantation and Theo popped out of the air, disappearing in front of Draco’s eyes.

The exhausted boy fell onto his bed with a groan, knowing that Theo would be sending him an angry owl about the forced departure soon enough. Draco blew a few strands of blond hair out of his eyes, feeling a squirming sensation in his stomach.

 _I do_ not _fancy him. Obviously. We’re barely acquaintances._

Something in Draco sunk slightly.

_That’s right. I’m a job to him._

ooOoo

It was a misty Wednesday, the moisture in the air acting as though it was too lazy to coalesce into real drops. Draco stood facing the stretching windows in the ballroom, his hands on his slender hips. He scowled at his reflection, trying to reach into the deep folds and creases of his memories.

According to the texts he’d read and Potter, he needed some extremely potent, happy memories to fuel this spell. _Good luck with that_ , his mind deadpanned. Draco shushed his pessimistic side and closed his eyes, trying to recall something, anything that made that warmth appear in his chest.

_“Come on, Draco,” Clyde beckoned gently with his dragon-hide glove, patting the vacant seat on the broom in front of him. Six-year-old Draco wrung his fingers together, biting his lip nervously. His father had hired Clyde to teach Draco the basics of flying from the earliest age possible, as was tradition with the Malfoy family._

_Clyde’s roguish smile softened, and his Scottish accent was warm and strong. “Come on, Draco. Nothin’ feels better than flyin’. It’s a power you’ll never feel anywhere else.” Draco peered up at Clyde’s hazel gaze, straightening his back with courage from deep within his chest._

_With a little help, his childishly soft body was straddling the broom, Clyde’s chest pressing heat into his back. “We’re gonna kick off now, alright?” Clyde warned before they were soaring into the air, stinging winter air running its cold hands across Draco’s pink cheeks._

_Draco laughed, amazed as the Manor shrunk beneath them, the pink, white and black dot of his mother becoming smaller by the moment. He lifted his left hand, feeling as though he could catch a cloud in his grasp. Surely this was what birds felt every time they spread their wings…_

“ _Expecto Patronum_ ,” Draco said, pointing his outstretched hand at the robed mannequin he had sitting in the middle of the room. With an odd draining sensation, fuzzy white light seeped from his fingers, uniting into a cloud-like mass in front of him. Draco panted, able to hold the brightness in his chest for almost a minute before he dropped his hand, the mist fading away.

He sat down heavily on the marble floor, running a hand through his short hair. _Okay, that memory clearly wasn’t strong enough._ He propped an elbow up on his knee, resting his chin in his hand as he tried to think of something else.

_Their backs to the ancient tree trunk, Theo and Draco leaned their shoulders against the other’s, their laughter spilling around them as the lights from far-off Hogwarts windows shone off the frozen lake. “You know, Umbridge is gonna kill us if she finds us out here,” Theo pointed out as Draco took another sip of their confiscated bottle of Firewhiskey. Liquid heat pooled in Draco’s belly, and he grinned at Theo, ruddy colour from the cold and the alcohol in his cheeks._

_“Like the old hag cares about anything but Potter’s little gang.” Theo nodded, Draco’s grin contagious. The two boys sighed, giggling drunkenly as their breaths formed small, visible puffs of air in front of them. A single, drifting ice crystal landed on Draco’s bent knee. The Slytherin gasped before looking up at the clouds in the night sky._

_“It’s snowing, Theo!” The dark-haired boy simply smiled, his eyes never leaving Draco’s amazed expression. Theo gently reached out a hand, grasping Draco’s chin in his palm before turning his friend to face him._

_“Yeah, it is,” he stated simply before pulling Draco’s chin towards his own, pressing his mouth against his friend’s in a hot and cold kiss._

_“…Wow,” Draco finally whispered as he pulled back, blinking snowflakes out of his eyelashes._

Draco tried to focus on that tingly feeling, grasping at it desperately as he stood, raising his hand one more time to point at the falsified Dementor. “ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” The cloud seemed a little more substantial this time, hinting at some large shape that just wouldn’t completely form. Eventually Draco had to let go, leaning over to catch his breath.

“Good try.”

Draco’s neck popped as his head shot up to look at Potter, who leaned against the entrance casually. The Gryffindor lifted one side of his mouth in a half-smile before pushing off the wooden archway and nearing the Slytherin.

“My guess is that you just don’t have enough endurance with holding onto those emotions for long enough. At this point, you just need practice.”

“So I suppose I have no need for your tutelage anymore, then?” Draco said snidely, still a bit breathless. Potter smirked.

“I’m not through until you can fully produce a corporal Patronus, Malfoy. After that, we’ll see.” Draco didn’t like the small part of him that was so pleased that Potter would be forced to see him for a while longer. Potter reached into the pocket of his dark jeans, pulling out a small bar of chocolate. “Not Honeydukes’, I’m afraid, but it’ll help; a little physiological happiness never hurt, after all.”

Draco caught the sweet in his hands, looking at it blankly for a long moment before lifting his head. “Thank you, Potter.”

That crooked grin made another appearance. “No problem, Malfoy. Now what are you waiting for? Do the spell again.”

Draco smiled.

ooOoo

To be Continued…

ooOoo

 


	5. Lesson Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am trash and keep forgetting to publish these on time. Hence my trashiness.

o

Lesson Five

o

“Shit,” Draco cursed as he ran a hand across his sweaty forehead. His room was in tatters. Again.

_Why the fuck is this still happening?_

His toes brushed the dusted remains of his 150-galleon mirror, the softly sharp remnants sparkling in the bright light from the broken windows. The boy took a deep breath, gathering his resolve. “Blissy,” he called towards the door-shaped hole in the wall.

“Master Draco be needing Blissy, sir?” The elf asked as she scampered through the rubble. Draco frowned, crossing his pale arms across his even paler bare chest.

“Yes. Please bring me some parchment, a quill, and Hermes. I need to send Mister Potter a correspondence.” Blissy nodded fervidly, dashing out of sight. Draco turned towards his windows, warm morning air brushing against the cursed ink of his forearm.

He shivered with disgust.

o

Potter showed up within an hour, looking…relieved. “Malfoy,” Potter smiled as he stepped through the front door of the Manor (without knocking, of course), Draco perched expectantly on the stairs. “Thank God you owled me when you did,” he patted Draco’s shoulder in an oddly friendly manner before plopping down next to the bewildered boy. “So, you needed me for something?”

Draco stared at him, blinking twice before clearing his throat and standing. “Yes. Potter, come with me.” Potter raised a questioning eyebrow, but followed Draco up the grand staircase anyways.

Draco paused momentarily in front of his door – at least there had been enough of that to reassemble – before taking a deep breath and pushing it open. _You know, Potter’s the first man besides Theo and Blaise you’ve ever had in here_ , a sly part of his mind whispered as the battlefield that used to be his room loomed into view.

“Woah,” Potter whistled as his trainer connected with one of the fallen legs of an armchair. “What happened here?”

Draco internally squirmed. “I told you I had…nightmares,” he finally muttered icily, avoiding Potter’s eyes by reconstructing a gutted pillow with his outstretched hand.

“…Well, even I’ve never had nightmares that decimated a room as thoroughly as this. How did the bed survive, exactly?”

“Well, I sleep on the bed, so I suppose the blast range went around the epicentre,” Draco said haltingly, turning his head to look at Potter blankly. _He’s not even going to make fun of me?_

Potter nodded, pursing his lips thoughtfully. “Well, that makes sense. So, what did you need me for exactly?”

Draco floundered momentarily. “Potter, you’re supposed to be instructing me on how to _not_ blow up my house. That’s why I’ve put up with your bloody teaching for the past many, _many_ weeks!”

Potter frowned, looking a little sheepish. “Well, this _was_ supposed to teach you how to channel all that energy, but it also got your emotional side more connected to your magic – so it reacts when you have frightening dreams.” Potter paused for a long while. “I guess I should’ve thought this through a bit more.”

“…That should be your catchphrase, Potter.”

Potter blinked, then he burst out laughing. “How do you even know what a catchphrase _is_ , Malfoy?” He gasped for breath as he sat down on the rumpled bed, still chortling.

“I read, Potter. Yes, even Muggle literature on occasion. I suggest you try and pick up a book sometime; might help that ‘thinking through things’ idea of yours.” Potter simply grinned at him. Draco huffed in response, crossing his arms sulkily before sitting down next to Potter on his bed. “So, what do I do now?”

“Well, now, we’re going to get pissed so we can sit down like real blokes and talk things out.”

“Potter, things didn’t go so great the last time we got drunk.”

Potter snorted in agreement. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” The two wizards were quiet, a stray breeze ruffling their hair. “Well, how else are we going to talk this out, then? Two normal chaps shouldn’t do this sober.”

Draco flopped onto his back, pressing his folded hands to his stomach in a sloppy manner that would have horrified his etiquette instructors. Potter watched the sprawled man over his shoulder, an amused glint shining behind those glasses. “Since when were we normal, Potter?” Draco sighed, lifting a hand to rub his forehead. “Maybe I do need a drink.”

Potter reached out, swatting Draco on his abdomen, causing Draco to make a noise of surprise. “Don’t be so dramatic, Malfoy.” Potter puffed out his cheeks before falling onto his back as well, the mattress shaking from the action. Draco could feel the warmth of Potter’s bicep pressed against his. “Okay,” Potter stared up, determination on his features, “let’s do this.” Draco tensed.

“So, what do you dream about?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? Draco winced at the spidery crack stretching across the painted ceiling. “…Potter, I think you know that that is a rather personal question.”

“…Yeah, I do know. But I’m asking anyways; I also think you know that I’m the wizard with the most experience with nightmares.” Potter sighed. “It would take a lot to surprise me at this point.”

Malfoy snorted, flexing his fingers against the stiff fabric of his dress shirt. “I imagine that’s correct… What haven’t you fought against? You’ve dealt with basilisks, Dementors, sphinxes, Umbridge, Death Eaters, and even the Dark Lord himself. No wonder people treat Harry Potter Day as such a big deal; you’re a fucking god, aren’t you?” The sarcasm was flavoursome on Draco’s tongue.

Potter turned his head, scowling lightly. “I’m _not_ a ‘god’, Malfoy, and I happen to _hate_ ‘Harry Potter Day’ – it’s such a load of shit. But don’t think that I’m just going to let you deflect the question: What do you dream about?”

Those green eyes were open, judgement-free. Draco waited as long as he could before muttering, “The war, mostly. The time He was here at the Manor. Pain… Sometimes all of the above.”

Potter held his gaze, unblinking. “…And?”

“What the hell do you mean ‘and,’ Potter?” Draco said sharply, feeling oddly unprotected.

“Are you going to get more specific?” Potter said calmly, slowly.

“No.”

“…”

“Fine! Merlin, Potter. There’s always…the snake.” Draco shivered involuntarily, a cold drip of fear sneaking down his spine at the mere thought of the scaly, infinitely-long body sliding around his feet, those slitted eyes watching, always watching.

“Nagini?”

“Yes, dammit! That fucking snake terrified me.” Draco stared, haunted, into Potter’s eyes. “He once made all of us second-generation ones attend a special dinner just with Him – He Summoned one of the lower level Death Eaters, one who’d displeased Him somehow, and fed him to the snake. Stunned, but alive.” Draco’s voice was hoarse. “She started at the feet, leaving the man’s eyes staring at the five of us while he was slowly killed. Merlin, the way his eyes _pleaded_ with us, to do _anything_. But we all just sat there, so fucking horrified.”

Draco took a deep breath, flinching slightly when Potter gently pressed his arm more firmly against Draco’s for support. “And then, with that damn snake sitting in the corner with its extended belly, He simply called for dinner and had us eat with Him, right there at that table… That table is still sitting down there, taunting me, Potter…This whole house is laughing at me, the cowardly little Death Eater who lived.” Draco shuddered again, clutching his shirtfront tightly with white knuckles.

Birds chirped somewhere far off outside, their song clearly distinct through the lasting holes in the windows; it seemed ridiculous that the world was still turning far away, so many on the globe not even knowing who Lord Voldemort had been.

“…I dream about being too late.”

Draco looked at Potter when the other wizard finally made a noise. “’Too late’? What do you mean?” The question was almost inaudible, the feeling in the air too fragile for normal volume.

“I dream that I’d been too late to save the few that I did, that I never even had a chance.” Potter grimaced at the windows, Draco now staring at the back of his messy hair. “That I finally show up at Hogwarts and it’s all…over. Finished without me, and their bodies just stare at me, blank but accusatory.”

“But you weren’t too late, Potter,” Draco finally whispered into the pleasantly, mockingly warm summer air. Potter finally turned back around to stare at him, his eyes oddly glazed.

"For too many I was."

Draco didn't know what to say to that.

The two shared that look of mutual understanding for a long, undeterminably lengthy, moment. And then Potter sat up.

“Jesus, I need a scotch,” he mumbled as he ran a hand down his weary, young face. Draco watched his back, the wrinkles on Potter’s t-shirt containing the secrets of the universe. But then he sat up as well, squeezing his clasped hands in-between his knees.

“I suppose I can oblige you there, Potter.” Draco smiled weakly, still feeling raw. Potter met his eyes, those green windows just as unguarded. “Consider it payment for spending some of your leisure time with me.” And then those green windows were abruptly closed again.

“…Payment, right.” Potter suddenly stood, checking his watch. “I actually need to get going. I’ll still see you on Wednesday, Malfoy.”

Potter shut the bedroom door behind him, leaving Draco sitting on his bed, confusion and sunlight bathing his face.

ooOoo

“Everything is _fine_ , Mother,” Draco repeated, exasperated at the aloofly worried face framed in the fireplace.

“Darling, you have told me that three times now, yet I believe you are not being completely honest with me.” Draco wilfully stopped himself from rolling his eyes at his mother’s passive-aggressive way of arguing.

“I do not know what else you want me to say, Mother. The Manor is intact and safe; I’ve been maintaining healthy contact with the outside world through Theo, Blaise, and Pansy; and my lessons with Potter are becoming less and less necessary.” Draco raised his eyebrows in a bratty manner.

Narcissa pursed her lips disapprovingly. “…Very well. If you do not want to elaborate, I cannot force you; I just wish you felt more comfortable talking with me, my little Dragon.” Draco felt her intended stab of guilt. The air was quiet except for the soft crackling of the fire outlining Narcissa’s aging face.

The witch sighed. “Then I suppose this is goodbye, Draco. I won’t be home for a few more weeks, so make sure you eat properly and begin reviewing for your return to Hogwarts. The Greengrass’s girls have been studying for months, apparently, so that they don’t fall behind in their classes.”

Draco’s throat felt tight, unwilling to relay the news to his mother that he alone had never received an invitation back. So he schooled his features into earnest calm and nodded tightly. “Your father sends his love, and I expect more letters!” Narcissa called before her visage was gone.

Draco knelt on the smooth wooden floor of the kitchen, staring at the ashes in the grate as though they could save him from his reality.

ooOoo

Draco gasped for breath, leaning his weight onto his knees, stray hairs sticking to his damp forehead. “Fuck, I can’t anymore, Potter,” he breathed, a sinking feeling in his gut.

Potter frowned from his seat on one of the windowsills. “You can do this, Malfoy. It shouldn’t be draining you this much,” he noted with a small amount of concern in his tone.

Draco smirked wryly, lifting his head to share with Potter. “I guess I’m just too unaccustomed to happiness for this spell to work.” Instead of smiling at his joke, Potter’s frown deepened, a look that horribly resembled pity flashing in his eyes. Resentment, Draco’s old friend, sparked in the pit of his stomach. _How dare Potter have the audacity pity me_ , he snarled to himself.

Collecting himself in a way he hadn’t had to in the past few weeks, Draco stood, slowing his breath and his heart-rate. “So, Potter, what do you suggest? You are supposed to be the expert here, after all.”

Potter didn’t say anything, his stare full of thought. “Maybe we should –”

“Potter, just admit it: we’ve been trying this for three weeks now – I can’t do it.” The words were bitter on Draco’s tongue, the taste of truth rather unpleasant. Potter stood from his seat.

“You _can_ , Malfoy. Come here.” The man gestured for Draco to approach him. The blonde tensed when Potter turned him so that he was facing the windows viewing the garden – the first sprigs and buds of rebirth were beginning to peak into the midsummer air.

Draco jumped when Potter grasped his right hip, the other weathered, calloused hand clasping Draco’s left wrist and lifting it up. “Potter! What are you–?”

“Just listen to me, alright,” Potter said softly into his ear, ruffling the short, soft strands of hair on the side of Draco’s face. “You have to _believe_ that you can do this in order to be able to. Believe in yourself, Draco. And don’t just think that I’m spewing a bunch of stupid Gryffindor shit – it’s true. So be the self-confident bastard I know you can be, and have a little faith in your ability.” Draco refused to blush at Potter’s gentle tone.

“…Come on, Draco. You know the spell…”

Warmth seemed to flow from Potter’s grip on his wrist and his hip into his chest - Draco allowed it to fill him up, Potter’s smell of wood, lemons, and bread blanketing his senses. “ _Expecto Patronum_ ,” he whispered finally, barely breathing the words.

Electricity streamed through Draco’s veins, sparks shooting up his spine. Silver light burst from his fingertips, coalescing into a simultaneously shining but dark beast, gleaming eyes staring at Draco with intelligence before the large feline opened its mouth in a silent roar. “I did it,” Draco stated with disbelief as the panther circled the two men, radiating the warmth and security Draco was always secretly craving.

“I did it!” Draco repeated, his chest feeling lighter than it had in years, real flickers of joy filling him up. “Potter, I _did_ it!” Draco turned his head, tilting back to look into Potter’s incandescent green eyes, seeing amusement and some of his own happiness reflected therein. Draco’s heart unexpectedly began beating faster, his body suddenly hyperaware of Potter’s arms around him. The two men gazed at each other, their faces outlined by the silvery mist of the circling panther, the air suddenly stifling with invisible, electric tension.

But then the moment broke. “Yeah, you did it, Malfoy,” Harry murmured with a soft smile, tightening his grip slightly on Draco’s wrist and waist before letting go and taking a short step back. “I knew you could.”

The panther blinked at the two hopeless souls for one more moment before fading away into nothingness. Draco’s smile dropped off his face, his body abruptly feeling cold.

Potter glanced at that cracked watch he always wore, his mouth tightening slightly. “Well, I need to be going. See you.”

Draco didn’t stop the dark-haired man as he walked out of that giant doorway…but he couldn’t help thinking how nice that ‘Draco’ had sounded on Potter’s tongue as he gently wrapped his fingers around his still-warm wrist.

ooOoo

Draco awoke the next morning to the fireplace in his bedroom screaming at him. Well, not the fireplace itself, but the face framed by it. “DRACO ABRAXUS MALFOY. GET YOUR ARSE DOWN HERE AND LET ME THROUGH THIS MOMENT.” The young man groaned, rubbing a hand across his eyes before stumbling to the grate, saying the password to let the irate Pansy Parkinson into his once-peaceful haven.

“ _What the fuck is this?_ ” The brunette yelped sharply as she thrust a paper in Draco’s face.

“And good morning to you too, Pansy,” Draco deadpanned as he grabbed the _Prophet_ out of her hands. His thin lips parted in shock as the headline shouted at him: CHOSEN COUPLE BREAKS OFF ENGAGEMENT, POTTER SPOTTED VISITING MALFOY MANOR WEEKLY.

“- the fuck?” Draco breathed as he watched the blurry, grainy snapshot of Potter passing through the Manor gates, juxtaposed to a photograph of an extremely annoyed-looking Potter and the Weaselette.

“Exactly! Now put on some fucking clothes and explain to me how, according to this, Potter is breaking up with that ginger whore for _you_.” It took a moment for Pansy’s words to reach Draco through the tunnel-vision he was experiencing, but he eventually did shrug on the first shirt-like item he pulled out from his closet (one of his many black jumpers) over his pale chest, then sat heavily on his bed, Pansy perching herself daintily next to him, all the while judging the unkempt state of Draco’s bed-head and his worn, ‘S’-patterned pyjama bottoms.

Draco kept re-reading the headline, his knuckles white with strain. “They were _engaged_? Does she even have the Trace off of her yet?” Pansy just stared at him, not understanding the deep, panging hollowness that was settling in Draco’s stomach.

“You’re focusing on _that_ detail? Draco, when was the last time you read the _Prophet_? Or left this house, for that matter?” Pansy’s voice was a strange mixture of concern and suspicion that grated against Draco’s ears. “’The Chosen Couple’ is all anyone talks about. You’d think they were royalty or something.” Pansy pulled a cigarette out of her pocket, using her wand to light it before daintily taking a drag. Draco normally would’ve reacted with disgust at her habit, but was still to numb to move. “I think everyone uses – well, _used_ now, I suppose – their young love as a symbol for the hope in the future of society or something. It’s sad, really. Merlin knows how their first child would have been celebrated. There’d probably be another Potter day named after it…Draco?”

“…”

Something struck Pansy, and she almost dropped her stick of smoke-able cancer onto the bedspread. She Vanished it instead, grabbing Draco’s shoulder with a strength that surprised most of its recipients. “Wait; don’t tell me that it’s _true_?” Pansy eyes glazed for a second as Draco refused to look at her, still watching the mini-Potter in the photograph glare at him as Weasley hung off his arm, sneering at him. “You – and – Merlin’s bollocks, _Draco!_ ”

The numbness was starting to recede as all too familiar cold and stiffness reacquainted itself with Draco’s muscles and psyche. “Don’t be ridiculous, Pansy. Of course Potter and I aren’t – weren’t fucking. Like Scarhead is anything less than a straight arrow – in all meanings of the phrase.” Draco stood, his back to Pansy as he walked into his closet, changing into a more formal, Malfoy-esque outfit. It felt like putting on a second skin, and Draco was grateful for the shielding.

“Well, you can’t deny that Potter’s been visiting here, can you?” Draco winced slightly as he stared at himself in the mirror in his closet, spelling away the dark, bruised-coloured smudges under his eyes. “…I’m going to take your lack of a response as the confirmation it is and sit here until you enlighten me as to why the most famous wizard in Europe has been visiting you every Wednesday this summer.”

But before Draco had to return to his bedroom and face his best friend, a second voice entered the room. “There is being many letters here for Master Draco. Shall Blissy be bringing them?”

Draco walked back into his bedroom, opening his mouth to agree before the strangest memory popped into his head: Granger had been the subject of all of those cursed letters back in fourth year because the world had thought she’d broken Potter’s heart or something ridiculous like that. Draco didn’t even want to know the amount of hate that was now focused on him for apparently turning the Boy-Who-Conquered-Death into a faggot. “Please destroy all of them at once, Blissy, unless they come from my mother, Blaise, or Theo…Or Potter.” Pansy raised an accusing eyebrow at him while the house-elf bowed and scurried off.

“…Why wasn’t your dad on that list?” It wasn’t the question Draco had been expecting, and it hurt in an unexpected way.

“His letter would probably be the most dangerous of them all.”

o

Pansy stayed all day, a not-so-silent pillar of strength that Draco hadn’t even known he’d need as dozens of Howlers still managed to get through Blissy’s and the house’s defences. The insults and accusations, not to mention the threats, were unsurprising and actually caused Pansy to laugh a couple of times at their inanity. “Obviously none of these people were Slytherins or they would’ve learned how to properly get under someone’s skin.” But even as she giggled, she leaned over and rested her head on Draco’s shoulder, subtly giving him the tiny bit of physical comfort he desperately required.

Because even if he was a cold-hearted bastard who knew that he was above all of these plebeians who were writing these pathetic excuses of complaints, each hateful name or label expanded that well-hidden crack buried deep, deep in his chest just an undetectable bit more.

And as the sky darkened and the stream of mail slowed slightly as people began to rest their hateful minds for the night, there was still no word from Potter.

ooOoo

The note appeared on the pillow next to Draco’s head on the morning of the Wednesday following the Reveal, as Pansy called it.

_I will be returning from France tomorrow. We will discuss your next actions following the article then. Your father sends his love._

_~ N. Malfoy_

Draco swallowed, his throat suddenly parched. He seriously doubted that last sentence, but ignored the whisperings of emotions that lingered on the edges of his mind at what exactly his father thought of him now. That was hardly the most pending of his worries at the moment.

Draco cast a wandless _tempus_ , collapsing back against his cluster of pillows when he saw that it was already an hour after noon. He felt guilty for practically sleeping the day away, but what else was he to do these days, anyways? _When_ was _the last time I left the Manor?_ Draco stewed on that for a while, embarrassment welling up the longer and longer he realized it’d been. _Months, then. This probably isn’t healthy._

And it’s not like he could leave now. If he had been worried about the torment he would’ve received a month or two ago, he didn’t even want to think about how it would be now. Draco groaned, rolling over on his stomach and wishing he could just smother himself on his imported sheets and be done with it all.

But, unfortunately (or fortunately, depending), that Malfoy streak of doing anything to scrape by and pass on the bloodline just a little longer wouldn’t allow Draco to just die like that, so the blonde rolled out of bed and began the lengthy task of preparing the Manor for his mother’s return.

A strange, lead-heavy sensation began to smother Draco’s chest as the grandfather clock in his father’s study began to tick closer and closer to three o’clock.

_He’s not coming. You know he’s not._

_But…he might? This slander involves him too, after all, so why wouldn’t he come, if only to discuss what we should do next?_

_Like he cares about your end of the problem. He’s repaid the life debt, you imbecile. You think he’s going to even bother with you now that you’ve caused him all this trouble? He can’t even_ stand _you._

_But what about the other day? I mean, he must’ve felt it too…_

_‘Felt’ what? He’s been fucking the Weaselette for years now – fuck, they were_ engaged _even. Don’t you think you would’ve heard if the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice was a queer too?_

_…Maybe he’s bi._

_We both know that if you’re using that argument then you know you’re only thinking wishfully. Grow a pair and face the facts: you have a fucking crush on Harry bloody Potter and now it’s been confirmed that nothing will ever happen between the two of you. That’s it._

Draco sat in the ballroom anyway, his fingers picking at the expensive fabric of the windowsill’s cushion. He knew that Potter wasn’t going to show up, but his feet had brought him here without his consent.

His heart paused for a breath as the chimes from the multiple clocks in the house resounded: _clang, clang, clang_. Silence pounded at Draco’s temples.

And then it was done. “That’s it, then.”

Draco gracefully walked to gilded doors of the ballroom, turned around, raised his two hands in front of him and blew out the expansive glass windows on the opposing wall, crystal shattering and raining down in a shimmering storm, creating a crescendo of beautiful, horrible destruction.

Draco softly shut the doors behind him.

ooOoo

To be Continued…

ooOoo


	6. Lesson Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, starting about now, this fic has some heavy edits in comparison to the one of FF.net. Just fyi.  
> Oh, also, this story is very un-betaed, so if anyone sees a typo or something, please let me know! 
> 
> :D

o

Lesson Six

o

It was raining again.

“Draco.” The knock sounded softly against the door again. “We need to talk about this, Darling.” But Narcissa’s son didn’t respond, his eyes firmly fixed on everywhere but the copy of the _Prophet_ lying on his bed: EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW WITH GINERVA WEASLEY – ‘I ALWAYS FELT THAT HARRY WAS HIDING SOMETHING’.

The air was still for a moment before Draco lifted his hand, Vanishing the newspaper and opening the door to his bedroom in one fluid motion. “Talk about what, Mother?” Draco feigned his ignorance, hoping that maybe if he pretended hard enough, the matters involving Potter would simply fade from his mind completely.

Narcissa stepped softly into the bedroom, folding her arms elegantly across the front of her white robes. The white made her shine, giving her an ethereal glow, like she was some sort of avenging angel here to banish Draco to whatever Hell would still be willing to take him. “I believe you are fully aware of what I am referring to, Draco.”

Draco didn’t respond, turning his head to watch long strands of droplets slither down his window. His mother sighed. “…Draco, you need to tell me what really transpired between you and Potter so that I can alert the right people and get this all sorted out.”

“I seriously doubt that there is a way to ‘get this all sorted out,’ Mother. People love this sort of scandal, even, maybe even especially, when it’s not true,” Draco noted without looking away from the rain.

“So it is not true?”

Draco finally turned to face her, a self-loathing sneer on his mouth. “Of course it is a lie, Mother! Even if Potter was a homosexual, which he isn’t, do you really think he would have started shagging _me_ of all people?” Narcissa merely raised a carefully-manicured eyebrow in response.

Draco was very glad for the dim lighting, which hopefully obscured the pink tinge of his cheeks – after all, he was discussing having sex with Potter with his mother. “None of it’s true. We weren’t even friends,” Draco finally muttered before focussing on the dark weather once again.

Narcissa nodded once, unseen by her son, and slipped out of the door.

o

“-ILTHY FAGGOT! HOW DARE YOU SOIL THE HOPE OF THIS NATION WITH YOUR DISGUSTING, IMMORAL WAYS! YOU SHOULD BE BU-”

“Do they ever stop?” Theo asked loudly, his hands over his ears as Blissy carried the Howler to the flickering flames in the kitchen. Draco shook his head, circling the rim of his mug with his finger. Theo frowned worriedly, lowering his hands as the screaming was cut off by the hissing of paper frying.

“You should just hear the ones from the bitchy, Hogwarts-age girls,” Draco muttered, a wry smile on his lips as he shuddered jokingly. Theo didn’t laugh.

“Can’t you do something about them?”

“Like what?”

Unsurprisingly to Draco, who’d thought of all the options, Theo was silent for a long time. “Well, why don’t you come forward with the truth? I mean, you didn’t actually –” Theo trailed off questioningly, his cheeks colouring with the lightest bit of heat.

Draco took a sip of his cold tea. “No, Theo, I didn’t fuck Potter. Nor did he fuck me. He was merely repaying a debt he owed my family, nothing more.”

“…But you fancied him.”

Draco whipped his head upwards, mouth agape in surprise. Theo’s face was blank except for a mild smile. The ex-lovers shared a long gaze, until Draco finally looked down with enough guilt in his eyes to confirm Theo’s suspicions.

Draco’s head dropped onto his folded arms heavily. “Merlin, I’m pathetic,” his melancholy, muffled voice said. “I’m no better than a snivelling, first-year Hufflepuff.”

Theo snickered. “You’re not _that_ pitiful.”

Draco grunted in disagreement, his mind wandering to the time when he’d been in this kitchen with Potter himself, calling for a cease-fire. Those weeks past felt more like years ago. Draco peeked his eyes over his forearms when Theo plopped down on the stool across from him.

“So…What are you going to do now?”

“I actually don’t know,” Draco admitted cripplingly. “A couple reporters sent me requests for interviews, but I haven’t responded… I don’t think Potter would want me to do anything.”

Theo’s eyebrows rose in surprised indignation. “Why the hell do you care what Potter thinks? Has he specifically told you something since this whole mess started?”

“Well, no, but–”

“Draco, I hate to say this, but if Potter hasn’t said anything to you since then, he’s probably purposely ignoring you, hoping that you’ll just take all the blame yourself.”

Draco sat up completely, a sharp spark of anger stabbing his gut. “Potter isn’t like that, Nott! He wouldn’t - he’s probably just…”

“’Just’ what, Draco?” Theo continued pointedly. Draco didn’t have a response. Theo sighed, not meaning to play the devil’s advocate. “Draco,” Theo said softly, reaching over to pat his friend’s face lightly, “don’t romanticize Potter like every other person on the planet: he’s another jackass bloke who wants to avoid the consequences of his actions.”

“I know that, Theo! I wasn’t exactly the head of the Harry Potter Fan Club at the start of this whole mess!”

Theo just raised an eyebrow in disagreement. “You sure talked about him a lot.”

“I will kill you.”

Theo laughed, stealing the biscuit off Draco’s saucer. “Lookin’ forward to it, babe,” he said in his worst American accent, grinning madly.

Draco hit him with a wandless Stinging Hex in retaliation. He sniggered, his muscles strangely unaccustomed to the movement, when Theo looked around, startled and unknowing of where the pain had come from. “…So I guess I should owl Skeeter back?”

Theo shrugged. “I’m just saying that you need to take matters into your own hands. If you think going to Skeeter is the right thing to do, do it.”

Draco stuck out his tongue petulantly. “Merlin, listen to us. ‘The right thing’ – we sound like bloody Gryffindor saps.”

“Well, they do say people in love begin to resemble one another.”

Draco pushed Theo off his stool.

ooOoo

“Why am I telling everything to _this_ newspaper?” Draco asked quietly as he, Pansy, and Blaise sat in the lobby of a small office building. The secretary ignored them from his authoritative perch behind the desk, his non-descript features focused intently on his computer, a contraption Draco had never seen this closely before.

Pansy readjusted her flirtatiously short skirt. “It’s _The Snake Whisperer_ , Draco,” she stated as though he would know what that meant. She rolled her eyes at his lack of response. “Merlin, you really do live under a rock, don’t you?” Draco didn’t respond, too consumed by the tension he was feeling every time a new person walked through the building’s front doors, as though every one of them could’ve been the sender of one of those Howlers.

“It’s only _the_ newspaper for post-Hogwarts Slytherins, Draco. And for other intelligent power-seekers, I suppose,” Pansy added as an afterthought. “And, of course, you’re famous amongst these networks, so clearing this up with your fans would be a nice place to start before you move on to the bigger world.”

“My _fans_?” Draco croaked, causing the harried secretary to glare at them over his computer’s screen. Pansy smirked at Draco before winking at the secretary, who blushed.

Blaise rolled his eyes at his hopeless friends. “Yes, Draco, your fans. Just imagine the buzz this sort of scandal has caused amongst the _SW_ ’s readers: the leader of the world they hate hooking up with one of the child-stars of the Slytherin world.”

“We were not!” Draco hissed for the umpteenth time.

Blaise sniggered. “Save it for the interview, Dray-Dray.”

Draco opened his mouth to retaliate, but the man at the desk said that a Miss Talkalot was now ready to see them. The group of once-Slytherins stood, following a pointed finger down a blank hallway, where a lone, brass-embossed door watched them from the end. The plaque on the door read: Lucinda M. Talkalot, Editor.

Pansy knocked twice, in quick succession. “Come in,” an even voice called at them. She opened the door to the office, Draco and Blaise following. Sunlight streamed from tall, linear windows on the wall opposite the door, a handsome, modern desk placed in front. A dark-skinned, tall woman smiled at them from behind the desk, her short hair cropped attractively, her surprisingly green eyes watching them, calculating. Miss Talkalot extended a hand, gesturing to the three empty armchairs.

Draco sat in the one to the far left, sitting straight-backed and alert in the way that his life-long propriety lessons had instructed. Talkalot turned her electric eyes to him, her smile turning wolfish. “Well, good afternoon, Mister Malfoy, Mister Zabini, and Miss Parkinson. I never expected to have such famous Slytherin alumni sitting in my humble office. It is quite a pleasure,” she drawled, her eyes never leaving their unnerving fixation on Draco.

“No, it’s our pleasure, Miss Talkalot. Blaise and I have been reading your newspaper for years.”

“Oh, how wonderful; and, please, call me Lucinda.” It suddenly struck Draco why the name sounded so familiar – Lucinda Talkalot had been the Slytherin Quidditch captain back in 1976, her name adorning the plaque inside the Slytherin common room. Draco looked at the woman in a new light, the editor seeming more familiar now that he’d made a connection with his past.

“So, Mister Malfoy,” Lucinda said as she continued her physical evaluation of him, “I understand that you would like to do an interview regarding the accusations from _The Daily Prophet_ with respect to your romantic relationship with Harry Potter?”

“Yes,” Draco stated calmly, slipping into the cold-hearted, sharp-tongued character he’d known since he was a child. “The libel and slander must be stopped, as I do not appreciate the debilitating effects they are having on my personal life.”

Lucinda nodded, pulling her wand from her pocket. She tapped it twice on the microphone-looking device on her sleek desk. “Yes, have Peterson come to my office,” she ordered into clearly before stowing her wand back in the pocket of her elegant robes. A moment later, a petite Asian witch strolled into the room, a scroll and a quill clutched in her grasp. “Peterson will be recording your responses, Mister Malfoy, if that is acceptable.” Draco nodded in compliance.

“Very well. Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?”

o

Draco watched his mother’s reaction carefully, noting the subtle twitch of an eyebrow or the slightest movement at the corners of her mouth. He nonchalantly sipped at his tea, heart thumping quickly in his chest.

Narcissa, expression unreadable, lifted her eyes from the inky text, turning her icily-blue gaze to her son. “I do wish you had consulted me before doing this, Draco,” she finally said. Draco’s mouth twitched into a frown.

“Well, I figured it was my concern, Mother, so I dealt with it myself.”

Narcissa sighed quietly, folding her hands atop the newspaper on the lap of her dress. “You should not feel so alone in your troubles, Darling. I’m your mother: I am here to support you through all of your woes.” She reached across the small, iron table, resting her delicate, aging hand on the back of her son’s.

Draco smiled slightly. “I know, Mother. But I’m not a child anymore – I have to do some things independently.”

Narcissa smiled sadly, squeezing Draco’s hand before pulling away. “I suppose so, my little Dragon.” She looked at the copy of _The Snake Whisperer_ , watching the regal picture of Draco stare back at her. “I am surprised with how thorough you were with the retelling of events; I thought you had wished to keep your nightmares a private manner?”

Draco turned his head, watching an iridescent butterfly flicker across the windows of the parlour, the faint echoes of Blissy destroying another Howler resounding far off in the Manor. “A little bit of my pride was worth getting this entire mess out into the air. Now it’s merely a matter of having the conveniently-missing Potter verify my account.”

“Yes, where is Potter, Draco? I was sure I would have seen some sort of statement from him by now.”

Draco finally turned back to her, an oddly painful-looking smile on his face. “Potter seems to have disappeared and left me with the mess to clean up. How very Slytherin of him.”

The two were quiet for a long moment. “…Quite so.”

ooOoo

Theo whistled cheerfully, oblivious to the stares that followed him and Draco down the street. “Theodore! Let go of my hand!” Draco hissed furiously as Theo ignored him, pulling the other Slytherin along after him.

“Nope,” the dark-haired man sang cheerfully, continuing his long stride. “You’ll escape otherwise.” _Well, that’s true_ , Draco had to admit as he continued to struggle.

“Well, than will you at least tell me where the bloody fuck you are taking me?”

“Sure,” Theo agreed, to Draco’s surprise. “We’re going to lunch.”

“…Why do I need to be kidnapped if we are just going to lunch?”

“Because we are going to the Leaky Cauldron for a bite.” Draco’s face lost the slight spattering of colour it had.

“ _The Leaky Cauldron?_ ” Draco’s voice cracked embarrassingly. “Why are we going there?” He asked vehemently, attempting to free his hand more vigorously.

Theo gripped Draco’s wrist more tightly, rounding a corner and causing more stares from the adjacent Muggles. “You are suffering from PTSD, Draco.”

“What?”

“It’s a Muggle disease. It stands for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. You’re still haunted by your memories of the war, and it’s been ruining your life.”

“Wha-!”

“Don’t try and deny it, Draco,” Theo ordered, his voice surprisingly serious. “After all, you can’t even be around anyone who isn’t a friend from before the war, you’ve been suffering horrible nightmares for months now – I do wish I’d found that out from you and not _The_ _Snake Whisperer_ , by the way – and you haven’t left that hellhole of a Manor for way too long. You need to conquer your fear of wizard-kind.”

“I am not afraid of wizards, Nott! Now let me the fuck go, or I’ll–”

“You’ll what, Draco? You’re hardly going to cause a scene here, in the middle of a Muggle street.” Draco frowned, frantically trying to think of a plan as the two rounded the corner to the too-familiar boulevard where the Leaky Cauldron sat.

“I’m serious, Theo!” Draco’s voice was shrill but quiet as Theo pushed open the door, his other hand still firmly constricting Draco’s wrist.

Draco sucked in a deep breath, heart pounding erratically as the two ex-Death Eaters neared the bar, only one of the pub’s three inhabitants watching closely as the opened entranceway flooded sunlight into the room.

Hermione Granger sipped her glass of water, expression unreadable from the shadows of the corner as she watched her two old classmates awkwardly take a seat at a far-off table. She regarded Draco as he turned to Nott, the pale boy whispering something furiously as Tom neared the customers, a scowl on his haggard features.

Hermione’s mouth turned into a frown as Tom muttered something crossly at Draco and Nott before gesturing at the entrance to the pub. Nott’s face turned stony as he rose to his feet, his hand on Draco’s shoulder as the two began making their way to the door. Hermione caught a glimpse of Draco’s resigned expression, as though his fears had been proven correct.

She dropped a few Knuts on the table-top, briskly following the two Slytherins out the door. “Draco, Nott, hold on a moment!” The two men were a few meters down the sidewalk, and stopped immediately. Nott’s expression was curious and surprised as he turned to face Hermione Granger, whereas Draco’s face was an odd mix of quickly-masked shame and anxiety.

“Granger,” Nott blinked at her. “Can we help you with something?”

“Well, I couldn’t help noticing how rudely you were just treated in there, and I was wondering if I could invite you two to lunch in a more hospitable establishment?”

Nott and Draco shared a glance, some wordless conversation passing between them.

“Sure, Granger. That sounds lovely.”

o

“So,” Granger began as she sat down her glass. “I’m sure you are wondering why I wanted to have lunch with you.”

“…I assume it has something to do with the rumours about me and Potter?” Draco asked icily, his shields firmly intact.

Granger shrugged. “I suppose that’s a part of it. But I think that your interview in _The Snake Whisperer_ is really beginning to quell people’s idiotic panic,” she said matter-of-factly before daintily taking a bite of her sandwich.

“ _You_ read that article?” Theo asked for Draco, who was simply staring in surprise.

Granger smiled in a way that Draco could only describe as a smirk. “Of course. Who do think passed it on to the _Prophet_ this morning? I found your account of your experience with wandless magic particularly fascinating in comparison to how Harry tackled it.”

Draco choked on air. “Wait – you talked to the _Prophet?_ Everyone in all of Wizarding Britain is going to read it, then!”

Granger blinked. “Well, yes. Isn’t that what you wanted? Now people will know that you didn’t seduce Harry or some rubbish.” Draco paused, sharing a glance with a bemused Theo.

“Yes, I suppose that is what I wanted,” Draco haltingly admitted as he swirled his tepid soup with his spoon. _Of course, what you_ really _wanted was for Potter to contact you_ , that traitorous part of himself whispered. He ignored it.

“So, where has Potter been during this mess? He hasn’t exactly been forthcoming with help,” Theo asked squarely, watching Granger closely. The Muggleborn sighed quietly, folding her hands atop the table.

“That’s actually what I was going to ask you about,” she said to Draco. “Harry’s been missing for a week now, and I was wondering if you had heard anything. But, judging your reactions, I’d say you didn’t even know that he was gone.”

Muggle laughter and the clicking of silverware filled the air around the trio.

“Only a week?” Theo eventually repeated after silence had reigned for too long. “Didn’t this all start about a fortnight ago?”

Granger nodded, looking serious. “Yes. After Harry broke it off with Ginny–”

“ _He_ left _her_?”

Granger raised an eyebrow. “Yes. I gather you didn’t actually read any of the _Prophet_ or _Witch Weekly_ articles.” Draco shook his head minutely.

“Yes, well, he did. After that, he and Ron got into a huge row.” Granger pushed a strand of her frizzy hair behind her ear, looking contrite. “Ron and I might love Harry and want to support him no matter what, but Ron was really shocked by everything that was happening. They said some things, and Harry left.

“I met with him a few days after that, to tell him that we all still care for him, but that the article and his cutting ties with Ginny were going to cause some pain between him and the rest of the Weasleys for a while.” Granger looked down at her glass. “He seemed resigned, but told me not to worry, that ‘everything would turn out alright.’” Those brown eyes looked up again. “And then he was gone.”

Theo and Draco stewed on this news for a long moment, Draco watching the strangers that strolled past the window they were seated next to. Any one of them might be Potter - that damn Potter who was making everything so fucking difficult.

“So, what do we do?” Draco finally asked, his eyes still fixed on the real world outside.

“Um, I had hoped you might know something, but considering you don’t, I figured it’s time we alerted the Aurors.”

“What?” Theo exclaimed. “You’re barmy! You can’t let the Ministry know that their favourite pet is missing; if you thought the public was incensed by the whole Drarry fiasco –”

“The _what_ fiasco?” Draco asked cuttingly, snapping his neck around to gape at Theo, who blatantly ignored him.

“– then you can’t even imagine how people will react when they learn that Potter is simply gone.”

“…I suppose you’re right,” Granger conceded. “But then how do we find Harry?”

“Granger, what makes you think that you _could_ find Potter? I seriously doubt one of the most powerful wizards of our age could be found by anyone if he didn’t want to be.” Theo took a bite of his salad, oddly serene.

Granger suddenly seemed weary, her eyes looking aged far beyond her eighteen years. “You’re right. I just hope he comes back soon,” she muttered before taking up Draco’s gaze out the window.

_I think we all agree there_ , Draco thought to himself.

He watched as the dark clouds looming over London began to cry, a field of black umbrellas blooming on the street outside the restaurant.

_Fuck, Potter, where are you?_

ooOoo

To be Continued…

ooOoo


	7. Lesson Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry that I am trash and I was too busy to post this. :(

o

Lesson Seven

o

Draco bit at the inside of his bottom lip as he watched Hermes soar away, the bird’s intimidating body silhouetted against the cloudless sky. He nervously tapped his bare feet on the wooden floor, already beginning to have doubts about his decision.

_Well, it’s no use worrying about it now_ , his mind berated him firmly. He nodded to himself, turning back to the newly-reconstructed desk, where multiple scrapped drafts of the letter lay scattered. Small spurts of sentences caught his attention.

_Dear Headmistress McGonagall… Concerning the matter of… Request further explanation… A meeting between us… Highest regards, Draco Malfoy._

He picked up the sheets of parchment, forcibly crushing them in his grasp before Vanishing them wandlessly. Hopefully McGonagall would at least have the courtesy to meet with him, if only to explain why she wasn’t allowing him alone to return to Hogwarts.

“I need a shot of Firewhisky,” Draco proclaimed to the dust mites, not caring that it was barely ten in the morning. His hand was on the doorknob of the entrance to his father’s study when the door began to push itself open. Startled, Draco took a step back.

“Mother? I thought you were in France for the weekend,” Draco blinked in surprise at the grim-looking woman.

“Yes, Darling, I was. However, something has come up.”

“What do you –?” But then Draco stopped, the air dissipating from his lungs as he spotted the figure looming in the hallway.

“Good morning, Draco.”

“F-Father.”

o

Blissy’s hands shook terribly as she lowered the tray onto the table, fear and awe shining in her eyes as she gazed upon Lucius, the master who had been gone so long. “Thank you, Blissy. That’ll be all,” Draco whispered quietly. The elf bowed before scuttling away.

The tension was palpable between the three Malfoys, Draco and Narcissa strategically placed on one couch whereas Lucius sat opposite in one of the many high-backed chairs in the parlour. Draco kept his eyes fixed firmly on his clasped hands, his knuckles white from strain.

“Shall I pour you some tea, Lucius?” Narcissa asked calmly. From the successive clinking and splashing, Draco assumed his father had nodded in agreement.

“And you, Darling?” Draco shook his head.

“Draco, are you purposefully behaving like a coward? Make eye contact when someone asks you a question,” Lucius ordered frostily. Draco winced before steeling his features and straightening his long body.

“Of course, Father. How dare _I_ have the audacity to, as you say, ‘behave like a coward.’” Lucius scowled, the harsh lines around his mouth and eyes becoming more pronounced.

“I do not appreciate whatever your tone is insinuating, Draco. Cowardice is not a trait that runs in this family.”

Draco smiled meanly. “Right, because becoming a Death Eater and then running off to France before you could face the consequences were acts of _bravery_.”

“Draco,” Narcissa warned quietly, resting her pale hand on his knee.

Lucius’s eyes were smouldering with poorly-concealed rage, but his tone was pure ice. “I do not think that you have the right to judge me, you sodomite.” Draco flinched back as though he’d been physically struck. The words were harsh, but the pain that was spearing his chest was more from the disgust and utter loathing that radiated from his father.

“Is there some reason you’re here, besides to insult me?” Draco finally asked, his heart still thumping painfully as he tried to keep his features expressionless.

“Yes. I’m here with an ultimatum.”

Lucius sneered as he began his explanation. “As much as it pains me to say it, your…sickness is not unknown to pureblood society, or to our family. However, it is always dealt with quickly and quietly, and because of this whole debacle with Potter,” Lucius spat the name, “your mother and I can no longer tolerate your behaviour to go untreated.”

Draco anxiously cast a glance at his mother, who was resiliently avoiding her son’s gaze, subtle guilt adorning her tired features. “But, Father, none of those rumours were true,” Draco noted hastily.

Lucius scowled. “That does not matter now, Draco. Especially considering you are…what you are. The Greengrass’s youngest, Astoria, also happens to be a…”

“Homosexual?” Draco finished for him, a terrible sense of foreboding filling his lungs.

“Yes. I have discussed our families’ issues with Queenie and Apollo Greengrass and we have decided on a course of action.” Lucius paused, only causing the sense of apprehension to build in Draco’s abdomen.

“If you do not marry Astoria and produce an heir, you will be disowned from this family.”

Dull ringing filled Draco’s ears.

“Wh- Father, that’s ridiculous! You cannot ask this of me,” Draco pleaded with Lucius, whose gaze was harder than stone.

“Of course I can. If you do not fix this mess you have created, Draco, our family will forever be seen as a joke in society: a shameful, disgusting joke.” Lucius casually reached down and picked up his cup, nonchalantly taking a long drink as Draco struggled desperately for some sort of stability in his mind.

“Mother-?” Draco turned his fraught gaze to Narcissa, who looked incredibly pained.

“I’m sorry, Darling. If you’ll only marry the Greengrass girl…”

Draco closed his eyes, praying to anything that would listen that this was a nightmare, a horribly realistic nightmare.

But when he opened his eyes, he was still sitting in the parlour under the sorrowful gaze of his mother and the hateful gaze of the father he’d once admired and who he had thought had loved him unconditionally.

“…We can give you some time to think about it, Draco,” Narcissa whispered, tentatively reaching out to place her hand back on her son’s knee, but he recoiled out of its way.

“Three days,” Lucius declared evenly. “You have until July eighteenth to either accept the proposal, or forever renounce the Malfoy name and leave these grounds.”

Draco stared into those grey eyes, the ones he’d inherited, but no longer recognized the man who was glaring back. A heavy weight seemed to bear down on his shoulders as he stood from his seat.

“Very well. I will tell you my response soon enough.”

And then he left.

ooOoo

“Holy fuck,” Blaise whistled in sympathy as Draco cradled his head in his hands.

“Yeah.” He accepted the bottle of butterbeer that Blaise plunked on the veranda’s railing in front of him. The Zabini gardens bloomed around the pair, exotic flora and fauna from all around the world battling for their attention. The small, secreted gazebo in the alcoves of the grounds was a nice respite from reality.

“So…What are you going to do?” Blaise eventually asked, leaning against a white column, sipping his drink.

Draco sighed. “You know, I did actually come here for your advice, for once. I know that I can’t marry Astoria – let alone produce an heir with her – but I can’t exactly live with no money and nowhere to sleep, can I?” Blaise grimaced in agreement.

“If I was in your position, Draco, I would go through with the marriage.”

“Really?”

“Yes. At least you could still have male lovers on the side. And you’ve always wanted to continue your line, haven’t you?” Draco nodded, considering Blaise’s words carefully.

“That’s true…But I’m not sure I can allow myself to bend to my father’s will anymore.” Blaise raised an eyebrow inquisitorially. “He’s no longer the man I once blindly pledged loyalty to… He was wrong, Blaise. He made so many mistakes during the war and after it that he then forced me and my mother to deal with for him.” Draco leaned his elbows against the railing, gazing out at the marvellous gardens. “I just can’t justify following his orders anymore.” Draco swallowed his drink. “Especially when they make me as fucking miserable as this.”

“So where will you go, then? You know your father will make it impossible for any pureblood family to take you in. And the rest of wizard-kind hates our type anyways.”

Draco smiled sadly, watching one of the famous, purebred Zabini Kneazles lead its litter around a glowing shrub. “I have my Black family trust, which would be sufficient enough funds for a year or so without my parents’ aid. I suppose I’d rent some flat near Knockturn Alley or, maybe, in Muggle London. I guess I’d have to get a job of some sort.” Blaise choked on his mouthful of butterbeer.

“ _You?_ In _Muggle London?_ With a _job?_ ” Blaise laughed, loud and long. “Draco, I think you’re overestimating your own strength of will. People like us were made to sit back, have heirs, and run estates - maybe get involved with Wizarding law or some other high-class employment if we get bored. That’s it.”

“Well, Blaise, if I had it my way, that’s exactly what I would be doing! However, because I fancy blokes, everything is pretty fucked up. So please offer me some real advice instead of being a bastard, if you’d be so kind,” Draco hissed, the stress from the past few weeks pressing on the back of his eyes.

The two didn’t share anything more than silence for a long while.

“One of my step-fathers owned Mr. Mulpepper’s Apothecary before he died. The deed is now in the Zabini name. As far as I know, the room above the store is still empty. I could probably get my mother to rent it to you for really cheap.” Blaise shrugged when Draco turned astonished, grateful eyes on him. “She’s more accepting about gays and stuff, so it should be alright.”

“The potions shop on Knockturn?” Draco asked, a small spark of hope igniting in his veins. His friend nodded. “Blaise, I would be in your debt if you could do that for me.”

Blaise grinned back. “Good. It works out for everyone: my mother gets a tenant, you get a roof, and I get a favour from you that I’ll call in one of these days.” Blaise looked out at his sweeping lawns. “This also means Theo, Pansy, Greg and I can meet up with you when we’re buying our Hogwarts supplies.”

_Oh, right_. Draco had been so worried about his father’s proposition that he’d completely forgotten about the letter he’d sent to McGonagall. _Fuck, I hope Hermes returns soon_.

“Oh, that’s right. Well, please send me any documents that your mother will need me to sign before I can move there…Before the eighteenth, as I’m sure you understand.”

Blaise nodded. “Yeah, I’ll talk to her tonight.” Blaise reached out, patting Draco’s shoulder reassuringly. “Maybe things will turn out alright for you, Dray-Dray.”

“I hate you,” Draco grinned before turning the bottle of butterbeer Blaise was holding into a huge spider.

“Holy fuck!” Blaise shrieked, dropping the twitching arachnid, which immediately scuttled away to soon become a Kneazle’s dinner. Draco’s grin sharped, then bled away as Blaise peered curiously at him.

“You know, I hadn’t really believed that you could really do wandless magic until just now. I mean, I knew you said you could in _The Snake Whisper’s_ article, but it was just so far-fetched,” Blaise muttered, his gaze boring into the side of Draco’s face.

“Yeah, well, Potter was at the Manor for a reason,” Draco said bitterly, scratching his nails on the pristinely-maintained paint of the veranda’s railing.

Blaise blinked, seeming to come out of his daze. “Right. That Potter, he seems to be able to do anything.”

Draco grimaced into the sunlight.

ooOoo

Draco dropped his bag on the floor of his new home, a haze of dust engulfing his expensive loafers. His new lodgings were…dark. The ladder he’d climbed from inside the storage room of Mr. Mulpepper’s Apothecary opened right onto the bedroom, which featured a wide bed whose crumbling, grey blanket seemed to be older than time itself, an ornate desk with legs carved into snakes, and a spindly nightstand with a spherical lantern that cast dim light on the eggplant-coloured walls. From the little else that Draco could see, the plain door on the left opened to a washroom.

And that was it.

“Everything to your liking, my dear?” Laima, the eerily pale, mysteriously widowed witch who ran the shop for the Zabinis, called up to Draco.

“Yes, thank you,” he responded politely.

“Alrighty, dear. I’ll treat you to some ice cream at Florean’s tonight at seven.” Draco didn’t have the strength to tell the refreshingly kind woman that he was banned from most Diagon Alley establishments, so he didn’t say anything at all.

Sighing heavily, but somehow feeling lighter than he had in weeks, Draco plopped onto his new bed, staring at the foreign ceiling while replaying the past hour in his mind.

_“Mother, Father, I am not going to marry Astoria Greengrass,” Draco declared calmly from the entranceway of the dining room, his coat already on and his bag at his feet. Lucius stood, his face an unsurprised mask._

_“So, that’s your decision. Starting today, the Malfoy family has no heir. You lose all of the privileges of your birth, including any money that would have become yours. You are no longer our son.” Lucius dealt the final blow, turning his eyes away from his child for the last time as he sat back down for his lunch._

_Draco nodded, not daring to look at his mother for fear that he would waver in his strength. “Goodbye,” he said quietly before turning down the hallway that led to the front door, walls that he’d known since birth suddenly seeming alien around him as he walked away._

_His hand was on the handle when he heard his mother call out for him. “Darling, hold on a moment,” Narcissa pleaded as she neared her precious son. Draco faltered for one moment before turning, staring into her heartbroken gaze. “Just know that you will always be a Black. From this day onwards, you will be the Black’s lone heir, and you now have access to not only your part of the Black vault, but the entirety.” Narcissa leaned over, pressing cold lips to her son’s cheek. “Good luck, my little Dragon.”_

Draco stood, nearing the yellowed, thick glass of the lone window of his room. Knockturn Alley wound below his eyes, a rare customer flitting out of the open sunlight that bathed the scene. As Draco watched, a group of scarlet-uniformed Aurors paraded down the street, forcing a raggedly-dressed, crippled man to follow them out of sight.

_This isn’t a safe world for anyone anymore._

o

Draco was dreadfully bored.

The muggy, still air of his room held his limbs down to his sweat-damp sheets, restricting him from movement. From what Draco could tell, it was late morning as thick, heavy sunlight pressed in through the cracks in the dark curtains that covered his lone window.

_No one ever mentioned how fucking dull freedom can be_ , Draco mused as his bare skin continued to stick to his bed, his eyes watching the nothingness around him. He stretched languidly, arching his back as his spine popped satisfyingly. With almost a mind of its own, his pale hand trailed down his warm, flat stomach, teasing the waistband of his pants.

_When was the last time I wanked?_ Draco wondered absent-mindedly as his fingers pressed against the tight skin of his abdomen. Closing his eyes, he licked his lips as he circled his hardening erection with his thumb and forefinger.

His mind wandered, vague flickers of heat curling up his spine as he slowly drew his fingers around his cock. He recalled the slick sensation of a tongue coiling around his own, the rough pant of a voice in his ear. He sped up his hand, biting down on the inside of his cheek. Flickering images of his time with Theo filled his mind – short, dark hair, a crooked smirk, flashing green eyes –

_Fuck, I’m close. Wait,_ green _eyes?_

“Draco, dear?” Laima called from the shop below.

Draco yelped, sitting up so fast that he lost his balance and fell to the floor, tangled in sweaty sheets. “Yes, Laima?” He croaked, massaging his smarting elbow as the tented front of his pants quickly shrunk.

“Could you come down here for a moment?”

“One moment,” Draco answered, hastily pulling on some clothes, feeling the flush on his cheeks. He climbed down the ladder, emerging from the back room to find Laima behind the counter, a frown on her thin, weathered lips.

“Oh, good morning, dear. Did you sleep well?” Draco suppressed his desire to turn red again, nodding slightly. “Good, good. Dear, I was hoping you might be free to help me restock some shelves this morning – it seems that my previous employee has been taken in to the Ministry for some questioning and won’t be returning today.”

“Very well, I can help. What was she taken in for, exactly?” Laima sighed as she began her graceful stroll to the supply room, Draco following behind.

“Who knows, dear? Those Aurors are so desperate for something to do that they’ll take just about anyone these days.” Draco nodded at the landlady’s back, remembering the pack of Aurors from a few days ago that he’d seen prowling the streets. “…So be sure to be careful, Draco, if you plan on going out,” Laima warned earnestly as she began pulling brilliantly-coloured bags of ingredients off one of her long, wooden shelves.

Draco nodded, a tendril of dread caressing his heart.

He pulled his sleeve further down his left forearm.

o

_“Isn’t that…?”_

_“It is!”_

_“Did you read…?”_

_“Yeah, I know!”_

_“…wandless…”_

_“…Potter…”_

_“Suspicious, right?”_

Draco gritted his teeth, his fingers clenched around the tomes held in his arms, protecting his chest like a shield from the sneaking murmurs from passer-by on the sparsely-populated streets.

_“I think he’s probably connected to Harry’s disappearance.”_

_“The Aurors should lock him up, for everyone’s safety.”_

Draco stopped, the witches’ purposefully loud whispers causing him to shift his books to one arm, flexing his other hand dangerously. Just one flick, and he could turn them into anything. Lice would be fitting.

“Draco?” It was a questioning, familiar voice.

“Granger,” Draco turned, nodding at the woman who had stepped out of Madam Malkin’s, a bundle of cloth in her arms. Granger glared at the pair of women on the other side of the street, who look flabbergasted that a member of the famous Golden Trio was talking to such a lowly criminal.

“Would you mind if I walk with you?” Granger asked with a soft smile that irked and soothed Draco at the same time.

“I don’t believe I have the right to stop you from doing what you’d like, Granger,” Draco said frostily, surprised when Granger’s smile grew.

“Alright, then,” she said, stepping alongside him as they walked down the street, causing even more stares. Draco could see the headline for tomorrow’s Daily Prophet: FORMER DEATH-EATER CORRUPTS ANOTHER MEMBER OF GOLDEN TRIO – DASTARDLY PLOT ENSUING?

“What are you reading about?” Granger asked inquisitively, stealing a glance at the books in Draco’s arms.

“…Wandless magic, mostly.”

Draco blinked in surprise as Granger’s face brightened, her eyes shining with interest. “Oh, really! I’ve been researching the theory for months now, and I find it so utterly fascinating! I can’t even imagine what it’s like to able to test the theories yourself. Have you read Montgomery’s ideas on the relationship between subconscious desires and the effects it has on internal magic availability?”

“No, but I have read his partner’s work regarding emotional stress and the correlation with magical energy,” Draco said warily as the pair turned the corner into Knockturn Alley. Granger didn’t even seem to notice their surroundings, too focused on their conversation.

“Oh, I’ve read that as well! I particularly liked his studies about childhood magical expression.”

“Yes, me as well,” Draco exclaimed, the scholarly joy of finding a soul as knowledgeable as him in a field welling up inside of his chest. “I highly recommend reading Professor Sung’s trials as well.”

“I’ll be sure to find them, then,” Granger grinned excitedly. Draco tilted his head slightly, peering at the woman with new eyes.

“You know, Potter mentioned that you were writing your dissertation on wandless magic; I’d like to read it sometime,” Draco added cautiously. Granger’s mouth opened into a small ‘o’ before she beamed.

“I’ll be sure to owl it to you sometime, Draco.”

Draco grinned tightly in return. “Sounds like a plan, Granger.”

ooOoo

“Dear, refill the barrel of Grindylow fingernails,” Laima called from behind the register. Her new employee nodded, placing the last bottle of unicorn blood on the shelf before heading to the storage room.

Draco inhaled the ethereal scent of dangerous ingredients as he turned left, finding the large bag of supplies. Grunting with effort, he heaved the bag onto his shoulder, slowly making his way into the shop. He found the depleted tub, opening the woven sack in his hands and pouring the green-tinted claws.

When the container was filled to the brim, he sighed, turning around to – “AH!”

He reeled back, narrowly avoiding a graceless fall to the dirty, wooden floor. “Pansy?” Draco asked peevishly as he gazed at his amused friend. The girl shrugged, unrepentant.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you, stock-boy,” she grinned viciously as Draco picked up the empty sack of fingernails his feet, brushing off unidentified dust from the knees of his new uniform.

“Fuck off, Parkinson,” he bit out as he began stomping back to the storeroom, heat rising to his face. He might not be ashamed of his job – in fact, this was the most fulfilled he’d felt in years – but having his friends see just how far he’d fallen was an embarrassment.

“Wait, Draco!” Pansy called, the mirth gone from her voice. Draco stopped, if reluctantly. “Why are you being so pissy?” Pansy asked curiously as she leaned around Draco’s tense body, trying to catch his eye.

“Why are you here, Pansy? I have work to do.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” she responded as she judged his aproned outfit. “But I just wanted to come see how you were doing – I had to hear from Blaise that you’d been kicked out of your parents’ place, Draco!” She pouted angrily.

“Maybe I didn’t want the whole bloody universe knowing that I was disinherited, Parkinson. Now get out of my way; I have to start brewing our next batch of potions.” Draco stared at the wall behind Pansy’s head, waiting for her to move.

“…You’re such a bitch sometimes, Draco.” She shoved a letter into his hands. “Your mother owled me and said I should give this to you. Don’t worry, I didn’t read it,” she sneered before storming off.

Draco watched her leave, the thick parchment weighing heavily in his hands. He looked down at the sender, his heart skipping a beat at McGonagall’s familiar script staring back at him.

With stiff, fumbling fingers, he opened the envelope.

_Mister Malfoy,_

_In regards to the letter you sent me, I accept your request to a meeting here at Hogwarts. I will see you on July 23 rd at noon. _

_Until then,_

_Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Draco swallowed dryly, acidic anxiety bubbling in his gut.

ooOoo

Hogwarts looked remarkably unchanged as Draco stood outside those iron gates, reacquainting himself with the castle he’d known so well. There were a few dark gaps in walls where spells had destroyed the exterior, but, from afar, the school almost looked as intact as it had before the war.

As he crossed onto the grounds, a sharp stab of pain went through his Mark, as though his arm was cramping. But, in a moment, the pain was gone. Wary, Draco looked around, wondering if this was maybe a new security precaution. As he turned to face the lake, a tall figure caught his eye.

“Professor?”

Minerva McGonagall paused on her stroll around the lake, turning her handsome, if aged, features to her past student. Her spectacles gleamed in the midday sunlight as Draco approached, both of their faces expressionless.

“Good afternoon, Mister Malfoy,” she nodded her head slightly, her tone balanced.

“Good afternoon, Professor,” Draco replied as an instinct, only a moment later remembering that her official title would now be Headmistress. McGonagall merely raised a thin eyebrow, but let the moment pass. She gestured with her hand.

“Shall you join me on my walk, Mister Malfoy?” Draco agreed solemnly, keeping pace with the equally tall woman. The steps continued wordlessly, the crunch of grass and gravel underneath their shoes and the spirited chatter of birds in the willows around them their accompanying symphony. “So I understand that you wish to inquire about your lack of an invitation to return for your final year at Hogwarts,” McGonagall finally stated as they paced along the shore furthest from the castle.

Draco took a quiet, deep breath. “Yes, Headmistress. I understand that all of my classmates, including the other Slytherins, were sent invitations, except me. Now, I am not personally offended or upset because of my alienation-” That’s a lie, his mind whispered. “-but I do wish to know why all other Hogwarts students, including others who were tried for war crimes, were gifted a second chance at their education when I was not.”

“Those other students did not allow a dozen Death Eaters to penetrate this castle and cause numerous injuries and deaths, Mister Malfoy.”

Draco did not flinch. “I do understand your position, Headmistress. I had just hoped that the discrimination that has now become an expectation for my interactions with the rest of wizarding kind would not extend to this timeless school.”

“…I see.” McGonagall turned her eyes to the marble casket in the distance. “Trust is easy to lose and hard to win back, Mister Malfoy.” Draco resisted the urge to wince at the tone of pondering rejection. “But I suppose Hogwarts owes all of its former students a chance of redemption. How about we make a deal, Mister Malfoy?” Her sharp eyes turned on his.

“A deal?”

“Yes. If you come to Hogwarts for the remaining portion of the holidays and aid the continual process of rehabilitating the grounds without any negative incidents, I will assure you a place in the Hogwarts next year, and a measure of the faculty’s trust restored. Does this sound reasonable?”

Draco’s mind was racing with the possibilities, of his tentative residence above Laima’s store, of his first dabbles of true freedom, of his hope that came with the idea of truly entering through those castle’s doors again, and of his fear at the idea of facing all of those memories.

“Yes. I will do it.”

McGonagall’s mouth turned up into a thin smile. “Very well. I assume you need time to tie up any loose ends you may have elsewhere, so I will expect you to be in my office at eight in the morning on Monday, the twenty-fifth.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Draco’s mouth couldn’t help but twitch into a weak smile as McGonagall began her leisurely trek back to her castle, her tall, dark frame becoming smaller the longer Draco stood on the banks of the lake he’d known in his youth.

_So it begins._

ooOoo

To be Continued…

ooOoo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I have reasons why I characterized Lucius the way I did, and if anyone really wants to hash it out, just say something in the comments. :P


	8. Lesson Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that I am so late with these. I'm super sick, so I didn't have time to proof-read this as much as usual. So sorry if there are more typos than usual!

o

Lesson Eight

o

“And there’s no way of changing your mind, dear?” Laima asked sadly, her sunken, leathery face pulled into a despairing frown. Draco closed his bag with a _click!_ , gripping the handle firmly as he turned to face the woman who’d been so welcoming these past few days.

“No, there isn’t. Hogwarts is simply where I need to be if I plan on doing anything with the rest of my life,” Draco said with a touch of bitterness, a sour smile tugging on the corners of his mouth.

The elderly witch nodded, reaching out to pat her bony fingers against Draco’s arm. “I suppose that might be true for people like us. Well, dear, you’re always welcome here if you need a place to stay, or if you want some advice from a weathered old woman who’s seen too much of the world.” She smiled, her eyes gleaming with intelligence. Draco’s smile softened slightly.

“Thank you, Laima. I’ll remember that for the future. However, if I’m to make my meeting with Headmistress McGonagall, I must leave now.” Draco shrunk his bag, stowing it in his pocket before he climbed down the ladder to his rooms; Laima, surprisingly spry for her age, followed him to the storefront.

Draco sighed at the early morning sunlight, the street deserted spare the rare cat stretching and yawning in the shadows. He turned, taking in Laima’s grizzled features, the festering paint of the storefront, that one cracked windowpane for one last moment.

“Goodbye, Laima. Hopefully this will not be our last meeting.”

The witch stared at him intensely. “Good luck, Draco Malfoy. The path laid out in front of you is not an easy one.”

Draco blinked, nodded, and Disapparated, losing himself in the swirling mass of the universe.

ooOoo

_Thunk, thunk, thunk._

“Come in,” the voice called.

Draco stepped into the room.

The walls were staring, whispering, screaming.

“Ah, Mister Malfoy. Good morning,” McGonagall said, rising from behind the desk in her new office. Draco jerked his head into a nod, swallowing dryly as he purposefully avoided the gazes of the paintings surrounding him.

McGonagall’s reading glasses gleamed in the morning light, but she said nothing about Draco’s obviously nervous demeanour. “…I planned that you would acquaint yourself with your new lodgings this morning, and then I would introduce you to the other rebuilding volunteers at lunch.” Draco nodded again, clutching his hands tightly together behind his back. McGonagall’s eyes softened slightly.

“There is no need to be so tense, Mister Malfoy – there are very few on the crew who will judge you now.”

Somehow, that didn’t sound as reassuring as it was meant to.

o

To Draco’s mild surprise, he wasn’t given a room in the dungeons. “Hemmy is being told to show Mister Malfoy to the right Cathedral Tower, sir!” Draco gazed out of the windows of the tower, hearing his flat footsteps on the stone stairs and the fleshy _pat_ s of Hemmy’s bare feet. He’d known that Flitwick lived in one of these turrets, but he’d never climbed them to the top before.

“Hemmy is leaving Mister Malfoy to unpack now, sir! Headmistress McGonagall is telling Mister Malfoy to be in the Great Hall at noon, sir!” Draco nodded and Hemmy was gone. He stood in front of the large oak doors of his new rooms, light sparks of curiosity beginning to overwhelm the pure anxiety that had overtaken him once he’d entered through these walls once again.

He reached out a hand, wrapping his fingers around the doorknob – “AH!” The doorknob wailed with pain, causing Draco to jump in surprise and stumble back. Two miniature, bronze eyes scowled at him, a shiny mouth twisted into a pout. “That hurt!” The shrill voice sounded like the crunch of aluminium mixed with the whine of steel under too much weight.

“…I apologize?” Draco said haltingly, blinking down at the handle to his rooms.

“Hmph!” The rounded face continued to pucker, glaring at him.

“I assume you are the guardian of these rooms, then?”

“ _Hmph!_ ” It sniffed in response.

“May I go in now?”

“HMPH!” Draco’s eyes narrowed.

“Listen here, you,” he ordered coldly. “I have too much to do to waste time trying to please another idiotic charm in this blasted castle. So unless you’d like to be Transfigured into my new ladle, I suggest you let me in.”

Still scowling angrily, the doorknob turned itself and the heavy door swung open, revealing the sunlit rooms that were now Draco’s. The once-Slytherin nodded appreciatively, taking in the cream and mahogany-coloured common room that held a large, comfortable-looking couch and a handsome desk. He strolled to one of the two doors on the far wall, one opening to a spacious washroom, the other onto his new bedroom.

He resisted the urge to whistle in admiration. The room was lofty, with high ceilings seeming to stretch on for ages. The bed was large; crisp white sheets curled under a pale blue duvet, matching the walls around him. However, none of these held Draco’s attention for long, as the gloriously expansive windows opened onto a marvellous view of the grounds, the wooden structures of the Quidditch stands breaking the green stretches of lawn.

It was funny how he’d never noticed how beautiful Hogwarts was until he’d thought he’d never be allowed back.

_How beautiful, and how terrifying._

o

“…Well?”

“’Well,’ what, Blaise?” The boy’s disembodied head raised an eyebrow from the fireplace. Draco ignored the feeling of those eyes on his back, instead continuing his small amount of unpacking.

“Well, how’s the bloody castle? Is it swarming with self-righteous Gryffindors yet?”

Draco shrugged. “I don’t know. Apparently I’m meeting them all at lunch.”

Blaise was quiet, the silence portraying many wordless thoughts. “Alright. Well, just be careful, Draco,” he said with a surprisingly serious tone, the heartfelt words causing Draco to peek over his shoulder at his friend, who looked perturbed by his own burst of sentiment. Draco nodded in response.

Blaise cleared his throat. “Actually, that’s not why I’m here. Pansy’s pissed at you, did you know?” Draco sighed.

“Yes, Blaise, I know. That is a rather common occurrence between us.” Blaise hummed mildly.

“Yeah, I suppose. She’s just worried about you, Dray-Dray.” Draco threw one of his cheapest quills at the fireplace, causing the connection to sputter as Blaise laughed. “Anyways, she wanted me to ask if you’ve heard the news about Potter.”

Draco dropped the old Potions book he’d been stowing away. Keeping his back firmly to Blaise, he stiffly retrieved the text from the floor. “No, I have not,” he stated coolly.

Blaise snorted. “Yeah, I can tell. Apparently our great Saviour has been missing for weeks, now.”

Draco blinked. _Oh, right. Granger didn’t tell anybody but me and Theo_. “Oh?”

“Yeah. There are some rumours that he’s in America, and that he’s shagging some superstar.” Draco dropped the book again.

“You alright, Draco?” Blaise asked suspiciously.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

o

Draco’s arms were crossed against his chest as he descended the stairwell, his body stiff and defensive. There were voices from the Hall nearby, laughter and boisterous talk that sounded as foreign as another language, but all he could hear was Blaise’s news ringing in his ears.

 _Fucking Potter, getting me, Theo, and Granger all worried about his disappearance, then showing up in bloody America with some whore. Fucking hell_ , he seethed to himself as his footsteps echoed on the stone floor.

He stopped just out of sight of the large entranceway, unconsciously checking that his Mark was covered as he took a deep breath and purposely loosened his body into the haughty demeanour he’d perfected amongst these walls. _Merlin, let’s just stop thinking about Potter for one fucking moment._

He stepped through the arch.

“Ah, Mister Malfoy. How wonderful for you to join us,” McGonagall said calmly from her head at the lone table that occupied the hall. Two dozen or so heads turned in his direction, a few startlingly familiar faces staring at him.

“Malfoy is our new teammate?” George Weasley asked with shocked anger, Angelina Johnson looking as similarly furious next to him. Marcus Flint merely nodded in greeting at his once-Housemate before taking a sip from his tankard of alcohol. Oliver Wood’s eyebrows were raised over hard eyes, but he didn’t say a word as Draco continued to stand at the foot of the table. Roger Davies was watching Draco, a calculating glint in his intelligent gaze.

Draco didn’t know most of the adults who filled the rest of the seats, some of them as old as his mother, others looking close to his own age. Noticeably, two young women were muttering to each other, very pink in the face as they silenced their giggles. McGonagall quirked an eyebrow at Draco, gesturing to the empty seat to her left. Draco silently took his seat in between Flint and the Headmistress, returning the looks that bounced off his skin.

“Well, dig in,” McGonagall finally stated, the plates immediately filling with steaming meat and vegetables. Low conversation began as people moved on, momentarily, from Draco’s surprising appearance.

“Community service?” Marcus finally grunted in Draco’s direction.

“What?”

Flint turned dark eyes on him. “You here to repay war crimes?” He flashed the dark ink on his forearm. Draco swallowed dryly.

“No, actually. I assume that is why _you_ are here?” Marcus nodded.

“One of the reasons.”

Draco nodded, picking at the stew in front of him.

“So what exactly do we do around here?” Draco finally asked Marcus quietly as Weasley sent the end of the table into peals of laughter with his tale. Marcus shrugged.

“Some of us are still rebuilding the exterior at the moment, but most of the team is trying to get the castle’s magic back to its previous levels – it’s been fucking unpredictable these past few weeks. Peterson even had to be sent to Mungo’s because the castle drained him too much.”

“Drained–?”

Marcus stared at him. “You’ll see,” he eventually grunted before turning back to his meal.

McGonagall cleared her throat; voices quieted in the Great Hall. “This afternoon I hope that Wood, Flint, Johnson, Weasley, Peals, Hobby and Malfoy will continue with their restoration of the seventh floor walls, whereas Davies, O’Donnell, Hood, Jin, Adder and Goldson will tackle the Prefects’ washroom. The rest will join me in the dungeons to deal with the damage caused by last week’s leak. And do try and remember that time is of the essence; Hogwarts will be filled with children in little more than a month, after all.” There were murmurs and nods of agreement. “Very well. If everyone is finished,” the plates cleared themselves while the group of witches and wizards stood, coalescing into their various clusters.

Draco turned to follow Marcus as their band of volunteers and criminals headed up the grand staircase to the seventh floor – Draco predicted that the moving staircases were too dangerous to use at this point if Hogwarts wasn’t completely under control.

Sunlight streamed into the hallway where the men and women stopped, warm air drifting in through the many obvious cracks in the stone interior. “Alright,” a woman at the front of the group said, turning to face the six other volunteers. “I’ll start at that end,” she pointed to the far end of the corridor, “with Peals; Weasley and Johnson can begin at the other. Wood and Flint – you two start in the middle and work your way outwards.” Her frost-coloured eyes stopped on Draco. “Oh, and show Malfoy how this bloody thing works.”

There were nods and determined agreements. The woman, Hobby, and the short man named Peals separated from the group as the one-eared Weasley and Johnson did the same, all the while glaring at Draco as they passed. Draco merely sneered in reply to their silent challenge.

“Well, Malfoy, let’s get goin’, then,” Marcus grunted as he stepped towards one of the larger cracks near the base of the ancient wall, Wood following him.

Draco watched as Marcus knelt, pulling his wand from his sleeve as Wood did the same on his left side. They slowly pressed the tips of the wands to the edges of the splintered stone. Draco startled when there was a sudden spark of light, an odd golden strand flowing from the two men’s wands to the fuzzy-looking sheen that now covered the hole.

“What magic are you doing?” Draco asked, fascinated as the two edges of the crack seemed to meet, sewing itself together. Marcus and Wood sharply drew up their wands, snapping the golden thread and falling away from the newly-mended wall.

Marcus stood, looking drained. “It’s fucking messed up magic, is what it is. The castle takes our magical energy and uses it to repair itself. McGonagall’s just worried why Hogwarts can’t seem to do it without us,” he said with a shrug and a long breath. Wood nodded shortly in agreement before moving a few metres down, where two slivers of light were leaking through.

Draco and Marcus followed. “Alright, Malfoy, so you try this time. You can do wandless magic now, right?” Draco blinked in surprise, but nodded, realizing that he had disclosed that fact in his interview with _The Snake Whisperer_ , after all. “Alright, then, try and let Hogwarts take your magic somehow. Wood and I’ll work on this one.”

Draco nodded, kneeling to inspect the slight fissure more closely. Slowing his breath, he channelled his thoughts in the way Potter had taught him to all those weeks ago, feeling that electricity crackle inside of him. He gently raised his hand, his fingertips brushing against the coarse, cool granules of stone.

He suddenly felt it, a soft, powerful brush against his magic that felt as inquisitive as a child’s. He breathed out a quiet laugh, amazed at the living _thing_ that lightly tasted the magic he was pushing towards it.

And then it bit – a sharp pull snapping in Draco’s abdomen as Hogwarts took his energy and sapped the very life out of him.

He held onto the drain for as long as he could, the sensation feeling similar to that of casting his Patronus. But, quickly, he fell back onto his bent legs, breaking his connection and feeling that child-like, needy presence fall away.

“Merlin,” he panted, staring at the flawless expanse of wall where the small crack had once filled. Marcus and Wood smirked in his direction before returning to their project, both reminiscing to the first time they’d connected their magical core with Hogwarts’. Draco sat on the cool, worn floor for a moment, simply breathing in the palpable power in the air.

And then he smiled, a curved, slow, boyish grin that hadn’t been seen in years.

 _I want to do that again_.

o

It was late, Draco having retired to his rooms after a long afternoon of working on the castle. He lay on the couch, his very soul feeling drained from the shear amount of strain his magical core had been under for hours on end.

“Even if it is exhausting, the process is fascinating,” Draco muttered to the ceiling, which was dark with the shadows of dusk.

“Talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity, you know,” a voice said from the fireplace.

“Theo!” Draco got down from his seat, kneeling by the fireplace to raise an eyebrow at Theo’s smirk.

“’lo. And how’s the little Slytherin Prince doing amongst all the scary Gryffindors? Are you being bullied?” Draco rolled his eyes at Theo’s teasing tone.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Nott. Of course everything is under control. It’s been one day – how much harm could I have come to, truly?”

“I dunno; I wouldn’t put much out of the range of possibility for some of the people I’ve heard are at Hogwarts. Is it true that Flint is there?”

Draco blinked, settling more comfortably on the hearth as flames continued to lick around Theo’s head. “Yes, actually. Apparently he’s paying off some sort of war debt.” Draco licked his lips. “He’s Marked as well, you know. I’m surprised I didn’t know that.”

Theo looked thoughtful. “Well, it makes sense, in a way. But it must be good to have someone else there who isn’t just a fucking do-gooder, right?”

Draco shrugged, propping his chin on one of his bent knees. “Do you want to come through, by chance? I could use the company tonight.”

Theo cocked an eyebrow, a slow grin stretching across his lips. “Is this a lecherous invitation, Mister Malfoy? I thought your heart belonged to a certain missing Saviour.” Draco blinked, his stomach tightening oddly. How could he have forgotten? Potter was missing, with only Blaise’s gossip giving any sort of clue of his whereabouts. “But, look, I’m up to anything as long as you are. It’s been too long since I’ve had a good fuck, anyways,” Theo continued, his gaze soft but intense as he watched Draco.

“…No, I’ve changed my mind. You’re too irritating to spend an entire night with anymore,” Draco sighed, barring his teeth in a sharp smile.

Theo grinned knowingly. “If you say so, Draco. G’night, then. Be sure to keep me up to date about all the shit that’s going down over there,” he called before he was gone, the fire crackling into dying embers.

Draco sighed again, standing and brushing off stray soot from his knees. _Fucking Theo_ , he thought absently as he neared his desk. A large envelope he didn’t recognize caught his eye. He ripped it open, pulling out a substantially thick document. A note fell onto the desktop:

_Draco,_

_I sent you my dissertation in hopes that you could read it and give me your thoughts. I’d love to interview you for some first-hand thoughts on wandless techniques and experiences as well. Comparing them to Harry’s would be a wonderful addition to my work._

_Best,_

_Hermione Granger_

Draco’s mouth twitched into a small smile as he flipped through the paper, Granger’s minute scrawl covering every available scrap of surface with her theories and findings. _Amazing, really_. Draco set Granger’s work down, his thoughts still far away.

_Fucking Potter._

o

Draco pushed open the library’s grand doors, breathing in the smell of dust and aged paper.

But something was wrong.

 _It’s so quiet_ , Draco realized, his footsteps echoing eerily as he raised a hand, casting a bright _lumos_ and illuminating the endless shelves of books.

It was too quiet, a silence that was unnatural to the magical archive – this library was normally filled with books moving to and fro, the sounds of paper flipping and ink being scratched, the rare voice or scuttle of an animal that had snuck in amongst the rows of books.

Draco frowned, his fist unconsciously clenching on the leg of his trousers. This silence was unnerving – even for it being night-time, there was something _off_ here.

Draco stopped, hesitating for just another moment before he turned and left the ancient tomes that held so much knowledge, setting a course back to his rooms.

 _There is something desperately wrong with Hogwarts_.

ooOoo

The first days were gruelling, physically and magically, as Draco continued to shape his mystical connection with Hogwarts. Soon, Draco _knew_ Hogwarts, could sense the familiar tinge of its presence in his gut as clearly as he could recognize his mother’s favourite perfume. He felt as though he was building some sort of relationship, as though every time he held out his magical core he was reaching out a hand to the mystic existence that permeated the ancient walls. He noticed that could connect more quickly and more easily than anyone else on the team – he could allow Hogwarts to feed on his core longer, and could build up his energy faster afterwards. But he kept his ease to himself, unsure of how the rest of the team would react.

On his fourth morning, he was assigned to McGonagall’s team, who was continuing to tackle the mess that had occurred in the dungeons. Apparently the windows in the Slytherin dorms had crackled, flooding the lower floors with murky lake water.

“In all the years that this school has stood, never has this happened,” Draco heard McGonagall mutter as they, along with a handful of others, were drying the floors and mending the furniture that had been soiled.

“At least no one was in here when it happened,” an Asian man, Rogers, Draco vaguely recalled, pointed out, causing McGonagall to nod in agreement.

Draco turned back to the painting he was hanging back on the wall of the first-year boys’ room, recalling a distant memory of the soothing, night-time landscape that he’d watched before falling asleep all of those years ago, before their lives had turned to hell.

“Do you have any theories on why this happened, Headmistress?” Davies asked as he reinforced the magical shielding around the windows. Draco turned his head slightly, making sure he could hear the conversation.

McGonagall sighed, elegantly waving her wand over a destroyed blanket, repairing it before their eyes. “Not particularly, Davies. I doubt foul play, as Hogwarts has seemed to strengthen its own protection. No,” she said distractedly, the lines around her eyes seeming deeper, “I believe this is Hogwarts’ doing. It’s simply falling apart from a lack of magic.”

“But where is all of its magic going?” Draco blurted, cursing himself when Davies and McGonagall turned their eyes to him.

“Well, that is the question, isn’t it, Mister Malfoy?”

ooOoo

_Draco screamed silently, fingers clawing at the vicelike grip around his throat. He was dying, fear paralyzing his limbs, making his fumbling struggle clumsy and weak._

_“Draco,” a voice hissed in his ear, a blood-warm presence breathing against his skin._

_He grunted in agony, his arms falling, heavy, at his sides as oxygen was cut off from his brain. With his last breath of energy, he turned his head, eyes watering as he stared at his attacker._

_Harry Potter grinned madly as his fingers tightened around Draco’s jugular._

“Mister Draco Malfoy, sir!” Hemmy squeaked from the doorway, wringing his hands nervously.

Draco sat upright, panting, his muscles stiff and his shirt drenched in sweat. He took a moment to simply breathe, the backs of his eyelids seared with the maniacal glint in Potter’s eyes. “What is it?” Draco finally mumbled, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms, adjusting to the misty light that caressed his skin.

“Mistress McGonagall is requesting everyone in the Great Hall now, sir!” Draco sighed, nodding as he untangled himself from the nest of sheets. Hemmy disappeared, leaving Draco to sluggishly dress himself and groggily fix his hair.

He began his stroll to the Hall, his eyes on the distant Quidditch pitch as he stepped down the many stairs of the cathedral tower. _I suppose I should have known these nightmares would return…I am_ here _, after all_ , Draco thought absently as he made his way to the grand stairwell, picking at a stray thread on his grey waistcoat. _At least I didn’t destroy the bloody room._

“Ah, Malfoy,” Draco looked up, seeing Marcus perched on the bottom step, cradling a mug of strong-smelling coffee in his rough hands.

“Flint. What’s going on, exactly?” Draco asked warily, hearing the buzz of excited chatter in the next room. Marcus grinned oddly.

“Didn’t you know? It’s Harry Potter Day.” Draco’s mouth twitched into a frown. _Right. That idiotic holiday. Is it really the 31 st already?_

“So…what? Is there some sort of banquet or something?” Draco asked peevishly, eyes flicking towards the loud, out of sight Great Hall. Marcus’ odd smirk widened.

“Just go see for yourself.”

Feeling even more hesitant, Draco nodded, slowly stepping into the noisy chamber. No one else noticed him enter, as they were distracted by something much more interesting.

Draco’s lips parted in shock.

“And may I introduce the man of honour: Mister Harry Potter himself!”

ooOoo

To be Continued…

ooOoo


	9. Lesson Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, another chapter! Think of it as an apology. And, again, sorry for any typos - still recovering from a horrific migraine.

o

Lesson Nine

o

Draco Malfoy was furious.

And too buzzed to care.

Someone, Draco guessed it was Weasley, had supplied this early celebration with a superfluous amount of liquor, leading to the Slytherin’s current state of inebriation. He muttered darkly to himself as he watched Potter get mobbed by the grateful throng of witches and wizards, the dark head of hair barely visible over the masses.

“Lovers’ spat?” Davies asked lightly from Draco’s side, causing the boy to startle slightly, spilling some of his drink to the floor. Draco turned to glare at Davies, who merely smiled in return.

“You already know the answer to your idiotic insinuation, Davies, so don’t waste my time by asking it.” Davies chuckled at Draco’s growl, raising his glass of water in agreement.

“Well, I suppose you’re right, Malfoy. I just wanted to know if your sour mood could be attributed to anything other than Potter’s arrival.” Draco narrowed his eyes at the Ravenclaw, who was gazing in the Saviour’s direction. “And I think I have my answer.” Davies’ grin took an odd twist. “I suppose some things never change. Good morning, Malfoy,” Davies nodded once before turning away, leaving Draco to his secluded corner.

It took two more sips of scalding alcohol and five more overheard squeals from Potter’s fans before Draco made his huffy exit from the hall. He didn’t have a destination in mind as he stomped through the echoing hallways, but he found himself outside of the entryway to the Slytherin common room, the once-secret entrance now gaping and crumbling from mould and decay.

He stumbled through the cavernous and empty room, making his way to the stairwell that led up to the boys’ dorms. He ignored the large patches of moss and debris that had yet to be cleared away as he continued to climb.

The door creaked loudly as Draco pushed it open, revealing his old room. He stepped inside, walking to the window and staring out over the surface of the lake, visible only in the uppermost rooms of the dungeons.

Rage welled up in his chest as he gazed at the murky, dark depths of water. “Fucking Potter,” he seethed as he turned to plop down on his old bed, the wooden frame groaning beneath his weight. _How dare he just show up here without any sort of reason? He’s been fucking missing for weeks – even the public knows now, for Merlin’s sake. He better have a fucking good excuse for this shit_ , Draco thought heatedly as he scraped his fingernails against the bare mattress, remembering the awful weeks Potter had been gone.

_Oh, please. You’re just relieved he’s back where you can watch him_ , that traitorous voice muttered dryly in his mind, causing Draco’s expression to twist into something bitter.

But he didn’t deny it.

o

Draco strode through the fifth floor hallway, wondering how he was going to avoid Potter for however long he was going to be in the bloody castle when he heard voices coming from the Prefects’ bathroom. He peaked into the open entranceway, finding Wood and Flint working on the broken windows and walls.

“Oh, Malfoy,” Flint nodded in greeting as he stretched his tired limbs.

“Why are you two working? Shouldn’t you be celebrating ‘Harry Potter Day’ like the rest of the masses?” Draco tried not to sneer, but failed. Flint raised an amused eyebrow, while Wood simply shrugged.

“I think I’ll survive without hearing Potter’s glory days recounted for the thousandth time,” Marcus grunted, causing Draco’s mouth to twitch into a smile. Merlin, he’d missed Slytherins.

“So,” Wood spoke up. “You gonna lend a hand?” He gestured at the fissures running through the elaborately decorated bathroom. Draco paused for only a moment before nodding, climbing down into the pool-like tub in the floor, nearing the daunting crack that split the stone.

He closed his eyes, the tense lines fading from the corners of his thin lips as he kneeled. He lightly ran his first two fingers against the sharp cut in the marble, his mild smile growing as he greeted the iridescent, infinite force that he’d come to feel whenever the castle responded, that brilliant intelligence pushing all other thoughts from his mind.

Taking a deep breath, he began the now-familiar steps to establish the bond, and he watched as the edges began to connect.

“Fucking hell, Malfoy,” Wood wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead as he stood on the edge of the bathtub, turning a dry smirk onto Draco as he watched. “How do you do this so fucking quickly?”

Draco shrugged, feeling satisfied as he let Hogwarts feed at his magic.

But, _wait_ –

Draco felt it in his core first, the amount of power he was sharing with Hogwarts suddenly fluctuating, as though Hogwarts had, in a quick moment, lost a large source of energy. And then a sharp stab of what Draco could only register as rage came through the link.

Then the rumbling began, an ominous, irate grating that began deep under Draco’s feet. Draco opened his eyes, his mind blanking when the crack beneath his hand began to widen, a dark, never-ending hole opening in front of his eyes.

“Malfoy!” Marcus hollered from the entranceway, shouting some sort of muddled spell that sent Draco shooting out of the bathtub and into one of the walls, a dull, flat pain dominating his senses as he fell to the floor, his leg crumbled beneath him.

Marcus and Wood were shouting something as the pool’s floor turned into nothingness, and cracks began to spider up the sides of the walls. “-out of here, now!” Wood shouted over the sound of destruction, running over to Draco’s side and heaving him onto his side. Marcus gestured wildly from the door, nearing his two teammates to help their escape.

They’d only just made it out of the entrance when it snapped shut behind them, allowing the three men to make it a few more feet into the corridor before they collapsed on the floor, breathing heavily.

“Shit!” Wood cursed loudly, hitting his fist against the unforgiving stone. Marcus grunted in agreement as Draco grasped at his ankle, breathing heavily.

“Malfoy? Y’alright?” Marcus asked suspiciously as he sat up, looking at the fellow Slytherin with thought.

“No,” Draco hissed, scorching pinpricks of pain climbing up his leg as the adrenaline began to cool in his veins. “I need to see Madame Pomfrey. Now,” he emphasized as his ankle swelled as he watched, angry, purple veins climbing up his skin as he lifted his trousers.

“No Madame Pomfrey here, mate. All we’ve got is Angelina,” Wood said as he kneeled on Draco’s left, Marcus on his right as the two men shrugged Draco’s body between them, casting a quick spell to make his body a bit lighter. “She was training to be a Mediwizard at Mungo’s before George talked her into helping here.” But Draco wasn’t listening, his nausea rising with each bump of the stairs against his foot.

“I don’t think he’s hearing a word you’re saying.”

Dull, throbbing pain.

“Nah, I guess not. That leg looks pretty messed up.”

Sharp knives of scalding heat.

“Yeah. Where did you say Johnson was?”

Rough grinds of sickness in his gut.

“Uh, I dunno.”

They stopped. Draco groaned.

“Figure we should just go to the Hall? Potter’s party is probably still going on. Johnson might be there.”

“No!” Draco panted as his two handlers began down the last set of stairs to the Hall. “Not Potter!”

Draco saw Marcus and Wood exchange a perplexed look. Wood turned slightly concerned eyes to Draco. “Malfoy, someone needs to fix your leg. Soon,” he emphasized, still moving towards the celebrations.

Draco groaned again, resigning himself to his unfortunate fate. “Fucking Potter,” he breathed as the odd trio stepped into the Hall.

The group of twenty or so witches and wizards fell silent as Marcus and Wood gingerly sat Draco down on the corner of one of the unused tables on the edge of the room. “Angelina?” Wood called the woman over, with Weasley following behind.

Johnson frowned at Draco, clearly having some sort of moral debate if she was going to help him or not. But she finally sighed, kneeling and pulling out her wand. “What did you do to him?” she asked Marcus coldly, who glared in response.

“I was trying to save him from the bloody bathroom, that’s what I did,” Marcus replied with a sneer.

“You saved him…from a bathroom.” Draco squirmed as Johnson lightly tapped her wand against his ankle, causing a numbing sensation to run up his leg.

Wood spoke up. “We were in the Prefects’ bathroom, doing the typical repairs, when everything when to shit.”

“Like the dungeons?” Someone from the gathered crowd asked. Draco stifled his grunt of pain as Johnson sharply prodded his injury, but the throbbing almost immediately began to recede. He was finally coherent enough to pay attention to the conversation and the faces around him. He resented the part of him that was disappointed to not see Potter amongst the group.

Wood nodded. “Exactly. We’re lucky we got out of there at all,” he said grimly.

“Someone’s going to need to tell McGonagall about this,” Weasley pointed out.

Wood and Marcus shared a glance. “I’ll tell her,” Wood decided. “Anyone know where the Headmistress went?”

“She took Potter on a tour of our renovations. I think she said they were going to start with the new shields,” O’Donnell piped up, pushing her glasses up her nose. Wood nodded, sharing one last pointed look with Johnson before he strode from the room.

That seemed to be the cue for the rest of the group to disperse, most mumbling about checking their previous projects to ensure future safety or some nonsense. Draco rolled his eyes; _like any of these plebeians can stop Hogwarts when it gets angry._

“Alright, Malfoy, you should be fine now,” Johnson said as she stood, brushing dust from the knees of her robes. Draco nodded his thanks, not willing to mutter the words. The Gryffindor frowned and turned away, Weasley following her after tossing a sneer in Draco’s direction.

Draco soon sat in the empty Hall, unconsciously running his fingertips over the thin skin on his ankle as he balanced his body on the edge of the long table. He watched the grey, indistinguishable blobs of clouds condense on the infinite ceiling above him, suffocating the last, weak rays of sunlight.

The hall was dark. And quiet.

“Draco.”

The Slytherin startled, tipping off of his precarious perch and falling to the floor in a painful heap of pale limbs. _Fuckingshitcuntbastardsonofabitch_ , he fumed as he turned his head to peer over the top of the table he’d only just been seated on, knowing that voice too well.

Harry Potter stared back at him, eyebrows raised in an odd mixture of concern, amusement, and consternation.

o

“Are you alright?”

“…”

“…Are you going to say anything?”

“…”

“Do you need help getting up?”

“…”

“Draco?”

“Stop calling me that, _Potter_ ,” Draco finally hissed, standing with his chin held high. Potter stared into his eyes with an intensity Draco had forgotten.

“…Fine,” Potter said simply, his unblinking gaze still focused on Draco. The two men stood there, a world of distance between them.

“Well, Potter, as _riveting_ as this conversation has been,” Draco smiled acidly as his sarcasm echoed into the rafters, “I have more important things to do than share silence with the Boy Wonder.” Potter’s face remained expressionless as Draco began to walk his way, knowing that he’d have to pass Potter to get through the entrance.

He couldn’t help but hold his breath as he stepped past Potter’s stiff body, close enough to catch a hint of the smell and heat of the man’s skin. He had huffed out a sigh of relief and…dissatisfaction as he continued a metre past Potter when an iron-like grip clamped down on his left wrist, bringing his body to a jarring halt.

“What the fuck, Potter?” He snarled as he turned to face the man, trying to free his arm. Potter didn’t reply at first, digging his blunt fingernails into the pale flesh of Draco’s forelimb.

“I need to explain, Draco,” the words were serious, those green eyes so unnervingly earnest that Draco stopped struggling for a brief moment.

But then the fire of resentment he’d been tending all those weeks flared up in his gut.

“And why the fuck would I give you the satisfaction of giving your pithy excuses? You fucking vanished for weeks, leaving me to deal with the shit-storm caused by those fucking articles.” Draco sneered, his mouth twisted into a cruel grin as he confidently returned Potter’s stare. “There isn’t an excuse good enough in the entire fucking world to make us anything other than enemies, Potter.”

“I don’t want to give _excuses_ , Malfoy – I just want you to know why,” Potter glared, but loosened his grip, allowing Draco to tear his arm away.

“How clear to I have to make this, Scarhead?” Draco hissed, angry irrationality keeping reason from his mind. “I don’t give a fuck about what you’ve been doing this whole fucking time – so leave me alone!”

He didn’t give Potter time to respond as he pivoted on his heel and stomped away, his mind blank with rage.

o

Minutes or maybe hours later, Draco found himself on the seventh floor, his footsteps echoing loudly in the deserted corridors he’d known so well back in sixth year. His breath was still coming out in odd, broken pants, but his heart-rate gradually slowed, allowing him to actually think about his encounter with Potter.

His eyes traced the fading half-crescents on his skin where Potter’s fingers had been mere minutes before. His feet stopped, and a deep sigh expelled from his chest. He reached up, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. _Why exactly did I rebuff Potter so thoroughly? Didn’t I_ want _to hear his excuses?_

“…Fuck,” he mumbled finally, sulkily stowing his hands in the pockets of his robes as he began walking mindlessly again. He stopped when he came to an eerily familiar expanse of wall, the hideous tapestry of dancing trolls gone, no doubt destroyed during the war.

_I need a place to be alone._

_I need a place to be alone._

_I need a place to be alone._

The wall remained blank, unresponsive. Draco’s eyes narrowed as he repeated his desire, and walked three times in front of the Room of Requirement.

Draco huffed out an angry breath, frustration bleeding through him. “Fine, dammit!” He hissed, kicking the barrier, stubbing his toe painfully and scuffing his last pair of expensive loafers.

He turned and stormed away, wondering if this day could get any fucking worse.

o

_He was in the Great Hall again, Potter’s painfully tight grip on his forearm, those emerald eyes piercing his own with an unreadable emotion. “I need to explain, Draco,” the words floated through the air, feeling distorted to Draco’s ears._

_“And why the fuck would I give you the satisfaction of giving your pithy excuses?” The biting remark seared itself on Draco’s tongue._

_Potter’s mouth twitched into an odd smile, throwing Draco off-guard._

_“Because I left for you.” Draco felt his brow wrinkle in confusion, his heart speeding up._

_“…’For me’?” He repeated warily – but Potter wasn’t listening, those green eyes and those pink lips leaning into his space._

_And then they were kissing._

_A war of emotions ripped through Draco’s chest as Potter firmly grasped the back of his neck, that rough thumb rubbing against the joint in Draco’s jaw, forcing it to open to Potter’s tongue._

_Confusion._

_Anger._

_Shame._

_Lust._

_Desperation._

_He kissed back._

Draco opened his eyes.

He stared at the dark nothingness of the ceiling.

The darkness laughed noiselessly at him.

He scrambled out of his sweat-soaked sheets, feeling unable to breathe. He sat on the edge of his mattress, panting as his eyes adjusted to the dim light from the windows, the dappled light from thousands of stars dotting his skin.

Heart still racing, he stood on stiff legs, pulling on a jumper over his thin shirt before stepping through his darkened rooms into the hallway.

He walked, his bare feet turning icy on the cool stone.

Moonlight danced around him, on him, through him.

The halls were silent as the bare few other inhabitants of the castle slept in their rooms, unaware of Draco’s night-time stroll. He focused on his breaths, on the steading _thump, thump_ of his heartbeat. The disquiet, the anxiety seemed to lurk behind him, kept at bay by his concentration.

Draco stopped, registering his surroundings as somewhere on the sixth floor. He sighed, an echo of a memory in his ears. He stared out the window, watching the glistening mystery of the lake, his mind entertaining the idea of submerging himself in the waters and never having to come back up.

“- _cus!_ ”

Draco turned his head in the direction of the hastily muffled mutter, his heart suddenly pounding. His footsteps were a mere whisper of a sound as he neared the nearby abandoned classroom a few metres away, his body curling into a smaller curve as he approached the small sliver of light coming from the crack in the doorway. He leaned in minutely, silently peering into the classroom.

He raised his pale hand to cover his sharp breath.

His first thought was that Wood and Marcus were fighting physically, but his face heated when he realized they were merely snogging violently, with Wood sitting on the edge of one of the desks while Marcus stood in between his legs.

Warmth climbed up Draco’s spine as he heard the slick noises from the men’s mouths and the choked groans as Marcus reached down to undo the front of Wood’s trousers. Wood laughed throatily as Marcus murmured something in his ear, too quiet for Draco to hear from his crouched position at the door.

“I know, you bastard,” Wood replied with a drowsy smile before wrapping his arms around Marcus’ shoulders and pulling him back onto the desk with a dull _thud!_ and more chuckles from the two men.

Draco pulled back from the view, breathing deeply as he _thunk_ -ed his head against the stone wall. He couldn’t help but notice the front of his tented pyjama bottoms and remember the dream he’d been trying to outrun. _Merlin, if I’d stayed asleep longer, would Potter and I be doing…that?_

He didn’t even try to smother the part of him that answered _I hope so_.

ooOoo

Draco hadn’t fallen back to sleep, so he rose early to dress and head down to the kitchens. He’d had to learn many secrets of Hogwarts back in his school days, and the secret entrance to the kitchens was only one of many he’d discovered.

The painting swung open, revealing the bustling heart of the castle. He caught the attention of a passing group of house-elves and procured an apple and some toast before he was headed back out, feeling in desperate need of some fresh air.

The grounds were wet with dew, and sparkled invitingly in the early morning light. Draco began making his way towards the lake, munching on his apple, when a dark figure caught his eyes.

“Prof– Headmistress?” Draco quickly corrected, surprised at seeing the older woman up at such an hour.

McGonagall watched Draco over her spectacles. “Good morning, Mister Malfoy. Would you care to join me on my morning walk around the lake?” Draco nodded, stepping alongside the headmistress as they continued along her well-worn path around the silent waters.

“I heard about what transpired in the Prefects’ washroom yesterday,” McGonagall stated after a few minutes, causing Draco to turn and meet her gaze. “Is your leg healed?” Draco nodded, swallowing his final bite of apple before Vanishing the core with a flick of his fingers.

“Yes; Johnson did a fine job.” McGonagall nodded, looking deep in thought.

“I don’t quite know what to make of these events, Mister Malfoy. It seems as though Hogwarts is trying to defend itself from something, but is confusing us with its attackers.” McGonagall sighed. “Hundreds of children are due to arrive here in three weeks, yet I cannot even assure the safety of the group of volunteers that are here presently. If only…” She trailed off, staring at something in the surrounding hills that Draco couldn’t see.

“Headmistress?” McGonagall blinked, seemingly breaking from her thoughts.

“Yes, Mister Malfoy?”

Draco cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I’m not sure if this is relevant information, but I believe Hogwarts must be spending a large amount of its magical energy on something internal, something that isn’t going away, causing a constant lack of magic for the castle to repair itself.”

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. “Please explain.”

“Well, Hogwarts is similar to one of us, a living witch or wizard with a magical core that can withstand a certain amount of use before it needs time to recover – like any other muscle in the body.” McGonagall nodded. “I think this core is what the volunteers are tapping into every time we help the castle repair itself – we are giving it a tiny bit more magic to fill up a mostly empty supply.”

“But why is Hogwarts’ magic stock so low?”

Draco’s mouth turned into an odd smile. “Well, that is the question, isn’t it? If we can find what Hogwarts is constantly having to spend all of its magic destroying or neutralizing, we can stop it, allowing Hogwarts to naturally replenish itself and complete the repairs as expected.”

McGonagall nodded, pondering. “Now, why did you say you believe the threat is internal?”

“That simply makes the most sense. After all, like you theorized before, Hogwarts seems to be confusing us with whatever it is trying to destroy when it uses up its large bouts of energy inside itself – I actually felt that surge when I was helping repairs in the Prefects’ bathroom.”

“You could feel the surge? How?”

“Well, I no longer use a wand for my spells, as my magic was too unstable after…everything in the war. In wandless magic, I have to channel energy straight from my core and modify it into whatever spell I need; I suppose I could feel more intimate changes in Hogwarts because our cores were directly connected, with no wand as a barrier.”

“Fascinating,” McGonagall noted with an interested grin. “Your hypothesis seems logically sound, Mister Malfoy. I believe I will write to a few of my contacts and ask their thoughts on the matter. I thank you for sharing this with me. Now, please excuse me.”

Draco smiled politely, watching her turn and begin the walk to the castle. He sighed, feeling oddly happy in his chest, as though he’d contributed to the cause. His grin turned more natural as he continued his circuitous trek, kicking at the loose rocks on the shore.

Harry Potter watched from the tree-line, a calculating glint in his eyes.

ooOoo

To be Continued…

ooOoo

 


	10. Lesson Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, how has two weeks already gone by? Sorry this took so long. :P

o

Lesson Ten

o

The Great Hall was alive with chatter, the bustling of an excited group of isolated men and women who were expecting new additions. Draco wryly wondered if this is how they’d acted when they had first heard of his arrival as he munched on his bite of cereal.

His eyes unconsciously flicked towards Potter, who was standing in the doorway with McGonagall, smiling at something the headmistress had said. Draco looked away sharply when Potter turned towards him, seemingly feeling his gaze.

“’Morning, Malfoy,” Marcus greeted as he and Wood slid onto the bench across from him. Draco nodded in return, unable to meet their eyes as he felt his face heat. He couldn’t erase the memory from the other day from his mind – the intimacy he’d stumbled upon.

But it was obvious now, as he stole glances over his bowl; it was in the casual brushing of their shoulders, the way Wood passed Marcus the marmalade without any words – simple acts of domesticity that only came from ages of companionship.

He glanced at Potter again.

“’bout time the post got here,” Wood muttered around his eggs, watching the ceiling as a few dozen owls soared into the Hall, meeting their owners with a near-silent _swish_ of feathers. Draco shrugged to himself, uncaring as Marcus and Wood began divvying out sections of the _Prophet_.

Suddenly, something sharp pricked his shoulder, and a great gust of wind ruffled his hair. “Hermes?” Draco asked with pleasant surprise, the great bird having been absent long enough that he had assumed it had abandoned him.

The owl nipped his ear affectionately, its steely, yellow gaze softening under his master’s attention. The bird dropped a heavy bundle of letters on Draco’s lap before beginning to nibble at his untouched bacon.

Draco’s heart skipped uncomfortably at the familiar font on the letter, knowing his mother’s script better than his own. He swallowed thickly as he peeled open the seal, drawing out the parchment.

_Draco,_

_My little Dragon, I hope you are well. It’s been weeks since you left, and I’ve heard from Mrs. Zabini that you cancelled your lease in Knockturn and have moved to Hogwarts. I wish you the best, darling, in whatever you plan on doing._

_The reason I am writing this, even though your father has distinctly ordered me to not contact you–_

Draco smirked, practically feeling his mother’s bemusement through the paper: his father was no match for her, truly.

_-is that the amount of requests for interviews from various publishing establishments has reached a staggering amount. I’ve been collecting them, making sure your father does not destroy them in his silly whims, and I’ve sent them with Hermes, who appeared here yesterday, having been with the Parkinson’s for many days, apparently. I do hope you consider these requests, Draco; some of them are from formidable publications, after all._

_Well, darling, there is little else I have to say, other than that I love you and will always be here if you decide to return to the Manor._

_~ N. Malfoy_

Draco’s throat felt tight as he brushed his thumb over the inky _I love you_ , feeling flustered.

“Malfoy? Y’alright?” Marcus asked gruffly, watching the blonde over his article on new Quidditch tactics. Draco nodded tightly, clearing his throat as he set the letter aside, shifting his gaze to the bundle of attached documents.

_Witch Weekly, The Daily Prophet, Merlin’s Quill, The Sorcerer’s Scribe_ …the list went on and on, stacking up to a total of twelve offers from various magazines and newspapers. Draco narrowed his eyes at the last letter.

“What the hell is _OUT: Wizard Edition_?”

Marcus and Wood looked at him oddly. “…It’s the magical world’s leading queer magazine. Why?”

“They want to interview me, apparently.”

“…Is that a good thing?”

Draco shrugged as there was a sudden spike in the noise level of the hall, and a flurry of activity rippled through the room, focused around the door. The three seated men turned their heads, watching as McGonagall parted the crowd long enough for Draco to catch a glimpse of bushy hair, gangly limbs, and –

“Blaise?” Draco breathed, astonished as his friend basked in the attention of the collected group. Draco stood from his seat, dazedly nearing the collected masses. Blaise caught his eye, beaming mischievously as Draco reached out, sending him a strong Stinging Hex.

“Oi! What was that for?” Blaise yelped.

“What the fuck are you doing here? And why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“Well, McGonagall was asking around for those who were erudite with wandless magic and its theories, and I happily volunteered my services.”

“Since when have you been a leading source of information on wandless magic?”

Blaise shrugged. “Well, after your _SW_ article, Theo, Pansy and I started to read up on it.” The dark-skinned man blinked, clearing his throat. “You know, since we had nothing better to do; it’s not like we were worried or anything.” Draco grinned, feeling oddly warm.

“Of course, idiot.”

Blaise shrugged again, returning the grin. “Oh, that reminds me!” He turned around, peering over the chattering crowd. “Oi, that’s your cue!”

Draco’s grin widened as Theo and Pansy walked through the archway, rolling their eyes at Blaise’s introduction. Draco pushed through the edge of the crowd, losing his words as he stared at his friends.

“Hey,” Theo finally said with a handsome smile.

“Hi,” Draco replied, hoping Potter was watching as he leaned forward and kissed Theo lightly on the corner of his mouth. Theo’s eyebrows were scrunched in mild confusion, but he grinned back.

“Fine, forget about me again, then,” Pansy pouted. Draco schooled his features into something more neutral, remembering the unpleasantness from their last meeting.

“Pansy. How are you?” The petite girl narrowed her eyes at him.

Then she sighed. “Look, Dray-Dray, you said some bitchy things, I said some bitchy things – let’s just get over ourselves, shall we? Besides, I missed harassing you all the time.”

Draco stared at her for a long moment before allowing his mouth to curve into a smug grin. “I knew you’d surrender first.”

“Well, fuck you, bitch,” Pansy said fondly as she pinched Draco’s exposed hand. The four Slytherins laughed, feeling giddy amongst their school’s ancient walls.

Draco couldn’t help but sneak a glance at Potter, jolting slightly when he saw that Granger was staring back at him over Weasley’s shoulder, something unsettling flashing in her eyes before Draco turned away.

o

“Oh, Marcus! How are you?” Pansy gushed as they joined Draco’s breakfast companions. An odd blush peppered Marcus’ cheeks, causing Wood to raise an eyebrow.

“Well, anyways,” Blaise cut in. “what’s the situation around here?”

“You mean with the castle?” Draco surmised.

Blaise snorted. “No, of course not. I know all about that; what’s up with you and Potter? Why is he even here? I thought he was in the United States.” Draco shrugged, levitating his fork lazily.

“…I heard he was off doing a favour for the Ministry,” Wood said nonchalantly, stealing the Quidditch statistics from Marcus.

“Yeah,” Theo added. “I heard he was in Romania.”

“Romania? What the fuck is in Romania?” Draco sneered as he saw Potter hug the one-eared Weasley with a relieved look on his face, Johnson watching the two with a pleased smile. Something prickly snared in his gut.

“Dragons, mostly,” Pansy shrugged. “But, really, Draco – what’s Potter been up to? How long has he been here?”

“Not much can happen in two days, Pansy. And it’s not like me and Potter are on good terms, even. Why do all of you seem to think that?” He glanced at Theo suspiciously, who shook his head, silently telling Draco that he hadn’t shared anything with the other two about Draco’s idiotic feelings.

“You’ve always been a little bit obsessed with Potter, mate,” Blaise said simply as he stole a piece of toast off of Draco’s forgotten plate.

“Fuck off. Potter was obsessed with me – not the other way around. He fucking stalked me all during sixth year.”

“Draco, let’s not go into this saga again, alright? All I can see is that you and Potter clearly haven’t talked things out yet, considering all of those longing looks you keep sending each other. The homoerotic tension is choking me,” Pansy said dryly, her grin widening as Draco whipped his head around to see if Potter really was staring at him. The barely-noticeable blush on Potter’s turned cheeks was enough of a tell to make Draco’s stomach swoop oddly.

“I think you and Potter need to have a little tête-a-tête, which, sadly, is not as dirty as it sounds. You two are our leading experts on wandless magic, after all. This whole inner-Hogwarts-disease conundrum is resting on your shoulders, Dray-Dray.”

The table was quiet for a long moment as the reality of Pansy’s words rang in everyone’s ears.

“’Dray-Dray’?” Marcus finally asked incredulously, causing Theo, Blaise and Pansy to crack up with hysterical laughter.

“You know what? Fuck all of you,” Draco said dismissively as he roughly stood from the table, ignoring Theo’s pleas to come back as he stormed out of the hall, the bundle of letters trapped in his grasp.

He was halfway up the grand staircase, just beginning to feel the angry energy drain from his fingertips when fast footsteps began sounding behind him. “Hey, Malfoy, hold on a moment,” Potter called, Granger and Weasley meandering at the bottom of the steps. Draco’s feet froze, almost involuntarily, and he turned to face the man.

“What, Potter?” He asked icily, focusing on a spot somewhere near Potter’s ear.

Potter sighed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I was thinking –”

“That must’ve been a novel experience.”

Potter frowned, but continued, “- that we really need to sit down and talk through the possible threats that Hogwarts is using its energy to fight against.”

“Does that ‘we’ include Weasley and Granger?”

Potter paused. “…It doesn’t have to.”

Draco licked his dry lips, finally meeting Potter’s eyes. “Fine. Are you free now?”

Potter’s gaze flicked to his two friends, some telepathic communication passing between the three. “Sure. Now is good. Wanna head to the library?”

Draco raised an eyebrow, remembering eerie silence. “I don’t recommend it – there’s something off with most of the more magical rooms in Hogwarts. Or have you already forgotten McGonagall’s tour?”

“Oh, right.” Potter rubbed the back of his neck again. “Um…”

Draco huffed out an impatient breath. “Just follow me, Potter.” He stuffed the letters into his robes as he brushed past Potter, retracing his steps back to the Entrance Hall. He steadily ignored Weasley, who glared at him, and merely nodded at Granger, who gave a tentative smile.

He pushed open the front doors, taking a deep breath of the air, revelling in that heavy, anticipatory freshness that precluded a rainstorm. He could feel Potter’s presence behind him as he strode towards the far-off Quidditch pitch. The wooden stands loomed above the green plains, outlined by the dark, billowing clouds approaching.

“Are you sure we should talk out here? It seems like it’ll rain soon,” Potter mumbled as he walked alongside Draco, who raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Do you forget that your one of the most powerful wizards of our century often?” Potter winced awkwardly, a mumbled “Oh, right,” on his lips.

Draco climbed the stairs into the stands, enjoying the utter emptiness of the skeletal-looking arena. It was oddly calming. He walked a ways down the row, finally taking a seat somewhere in the middle of the Ravenclaw section. Potter warily sat next to him, a good deal of space between their bodies.

“Well,” Draco broke the quiet tension pitilessly, “what do you have to add to my theory?”

There was a ruffling of parchment, and Draco turned his head to see Potter holding a dingy-looking stretch of paper. “And what is that, exactly?”

“This is the Marauder’s Map. It’s a map of Hogwarts – it’s a little outdated, considering all the repairs going on, but I figured looking at Hogwarts’ various parts might make possible answers come a little easier.”

Draco leaned closer, amazed as he watched tiny dots move around the castle, and the two dots that were sitting in the Quidditch stands, right where he and Potter were sitting. “This is extraordinary magic, Potter. How did you make it?” Draco asked, momentarily distracted as his thirst for knowledge reared its head.

Potter’s mouth twisted sadly. “I didn’t make it,” he said simply, something in his tone making Draco drop the line of conversation.

“Alright, then; we still need to know what we’re looking for before a map can really be of any help.” Potter sighed, a gust of cool wind ruffling his hair.

“Yeah, I know. What could possibly be attacking Hogwarts from the inside?”

They settled into silence, Potter looking far off into the distance, while Draco stared at the map resting on Potter’s lap, unconsciously checking if all of his common haunts were noted correctly.

“Potter?” Draco said suddenly, his eyes focused on a blank expanse on the seventh floor.

“What?”

“Where’s the Room of Requirement?”

“Huh? Oh, we think it’s Unplottable – it’s never shown up on the Map.” Potter looked down at the document as well, a confused wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows. “I’ve never seen it do this before, though,” he mumbled to himself, tracing the cursive outlines of the corridor, which seemed to flicker on the yellow page.

“You know, I wasn’t able to enter the Room yesterday, either,” Draco remembered aloud, meeting Potter’s curious gaze.

“But what does the Room of Requirement have to do with Hogwarts’ magic being used up?” Potter voiced Draco’s thought. Another gust of wind ripped through the stands, ruffling their cloaks and the Map’s pages.

They were on the right track, Draco knew it. Just, _something_ was missing. Draco stared off at the hoops at the other end of the pitch as they collected their thoughts, wondering randomly how so many months had gone by without him getting on a broom. _Well, willingly_ , he thought suddenly, remembering fire and pain and Potter’s back pressed to his chest.

He gasped. “Holy fuck! That’s it!” Potter stared at him worriedly.

“What’s it?”

“The Fiendfyre, Potter!” Understanding sparked in Potter’s eyes, and Draco felt heat blaze through his veins. “It’s cursed fire, after all. It simply burns through anything in its path – Hogwarts must be spending all of that energy trying to contain the Fiendfyre, or supply things for it to burn so that it doesn’t get released onto the rest of the castle!” Draco concluded excitedly, gesturing wildly with his hands.

Potter gaped at Draco, who could feel his enthusiasm warm his cheeks. “That actually makes sense.” Something else seemed to click in Potter’s brain. “And you said that Hogwarts is like a body, right? So, like a body’s immune system, it must not be able to differentiate us tapping into its magical core from the Fiendfyre trying to damage it. It’s like antibodies and stuff,” Potter finished lamely. Draco nodded, recalling vague terms like ‘nonspecific immune responses’ and ‘lymphocytes’ from some old Muggle textbooks he’d read years ago.

They beamed at each other, all animosity forgotten in light of their new discovery. A soft _plop!_ sounded next to Draco’s ear, and something cold dripped onto his skull. He looked up, a raindrop catching on his cheek as the first few droplets fell from the blanket of clouds.

He simply laughed, feeling askew.

He grinned at Potter, whose intense gaze made Draco’s smile slowly fade. The rain began to pour, cold water tapping a hollow rhythm into Draco’s skin, but he could barely feel it. Potter’s hair was sodden, his dark locks curling around his ears as he continued to stare at Draco, whose heart suddenly felt constricted.

Potter’s palm was cold and wet as it cupped his jaw, and Draco’s eyelids seemed to close involuntarily as those green eyes neared. And then there was only darkness, the smell of rain, and hard, warm lips pressed against his.

Draco took in a sharp breath through his nose, his fingernails scraping against the damp wood of the stands as he clenched his fist. Draco had been kissed by exactly three different people in his eighteen years of life: Pansy in fourth year, who had been enthusiastic and well-learned, with a habit of biting; a boy named Geoffrey who had been finicky and shy, and whose lips had tasted like roses; and Theo, who felt like acceptance and safety when they snogged, who liked to whisper nonsense against his lips.

Potter was different.

Potter kissed with purpose, with a steely confidence that was juxtaposed by his soft, questioning touches, the way he seemed to ask for consent with each brush of his thumb against Draco’s cheekbone. It was heady, to feel like the complete focus of someone’s universe for just a moment.

Draco’s eyes sprung open as Potter’s tongue traced the seam of his lips inquisitorially, asking for permission. Potter’s eyelids were closed, his glasses having been removed at some point without Draco’s notice. Draco could see the earnest curve of Potter’s brow, the feeling held in the soft lines on the corners of Potter’s eyes. Something wavered inside of him.

He surrendered, closing his eyes for security and preservation as he reached forward, curling his fingers into the front of Potter’s clammy robes as he opened his lips, supressing an embarrassing noise as Potter licked into his mouth.

It was surreal, the heat in his fingers and face combating with the chill from the continuing downpour and the whispering wind around them. He sucked softly on Potter’s tongue, enjoying the quiet sound the man made in response. He shuddered as Potter’s hand on his cheek moved down his neck, smearing rainwater into the sensitive skin above his collarbone.

There was a gentle roll of thunder in the distance, the sound being sudden enough to cause Draco to pull back in surprise. “Fuck,” he panted, staring down at his hands, which were clinging onto Potter’s drenched robes desperately. The two men breathed, trying to keep the continuing mist out of their mouths.

“Draco, I –” Potter stopped himself, sounding choked. Draco pulled his hands away, abruptly standing with his unsteady legs. A line of water ran down Draco’s spine, soaking him to the core. The cloudburst seemed to be gradually running out of energy as Draco collected himself, trying to anxiously deny the warring thoughts that were crashing in his mind.

“That didn’t just happen,” he finally whispered, turning his head just enough to see Potter out of his peripheral vision without having to meet those eyes. “That _never_ happened,” he stressed forcibly, confused anger colouring his words.

“But, Draco –”

“It’s Malfoy, Potter. We’re not friends.” Draco rigidly began walking to the stairs, but stopped for a moment as he glanced back at the drowned-looking man still sitting in that same spot, toying with the magically-dry pages of the Map. “And we’re sure as hell not anything more than that,” Draco said blankly, knowing Potter heard him by the way those shoulders seem to slump forwards a few more centimetres, the dark, depressing backdrop seemingly framing the moment to perfection.

It was a violent, severe walk back to his rooms, and Draco fingers shook around the handle to his rooms, which, for once, didn’t scream with horror at his touch. He pressed his back to the wood once he was safely inside, sliding to the floor in a rumpled, dripping mess. He absently wondered if Potter had gone to McGonagall to share their breakthrough in his theory – but the pain from thinking about Potter cut off his train of thought before it had truly begun.

He propped his elbows up on his bended knees, cradling his face in quivering palms.

_Fuck._

ooOoo

To be Continued…

ooOoo


	11. Lesson Eleven

o

Lesson Eleven

o

“Headmistress? You called for me?” Draco asked as he stepped through the door. McGonagall peered over her spectacles, setting down a bushel of papers.

“Ah, yes. Mister Malfoy, please take a seat,” she waved her wand, calling forth a kettle from somewhere in the alcoves behind her. Draco sat in the leftmost chair, noting how there were more seats in the office than normal. “We are expecting a few more guests,” McGonagall confirmed as she poured herself a cup of tea, wordlessly asking if Draco cared for one, which he declined.

The door creaked open, and Draco resisted the urge to turn around and see who it was. _Merlin, please don’t let it be Potter_ , he prayed, that kiss from mere hours ago still haunting him.

“Miss Granger, Miss Hobby and Mister Zabini, please join us.” Draco’s shoulders loosened with relief as he turned to weakly smile at Blaise, who raised a questioning eyebrow at him, no doubt wondering where Draco had disappeared to all day.

“Now we are merely waiting for Mister Potter,” McGonagall said simply as she offered Granger and Blaise a drink. Draco’s heart lurched uncomfortably.

“And we’re here to talk about what, exactly?” Blaise asked smoothly, expressionless.

“You, Mister Zabini, and Miss Granger are the only two wandless magic authorities I could get here on such short notice, and both of your researches have sparked a renaissance of magical theory and study throughout the world. Miss Hobby happens to be one of Britain’s leading historians on famous magical establishments, with an emphasis on Hogwarts.” McGonagall sighed, seeming drained. “We are all here because Hogwarts is falling apart, and we now know why. Mister Malfoy’s thoughts and wandless abilities will most likely be vital in whatever plan we enact, as he seems to be able to connect with Hogwarts’ core the fastest. I can only presume that Mister Potter will have similar success.”

There was a sharp knocking on the door, and Draco resisted the urge to groan as the other three turned to watch Potter slouch into the room, mumbling some sort of apology to McGonagall, who simply nodded at the remaining seat in between Granger and Hobby. Draco’s neck prickled uncomfortably, and he could feel Potter’s gaze burning into him.

“So, now that everyone is present, we can begin. Mister Potter came to me a short time ago and shared that he and Mister Malfoy had realized that Fiendfyre is apparently still burning inside of the Room of Requirement, which, for those who might not know, is a mystical, secret room in Hogwarts that can cater to the whims of those inside it at any given moment. During the Battle of Hogwarts, Mister Potter explained, there was a skirmish in one of the Room’s many faces, the Room of Hidden Things. The late Mister Crabbe cast the Fiendfyre, and Miss Granger, Mister Weasley, Mister Malfoy, Mister Potter, and Mister Goyle all managed to escape with their lives.”

Draco swallowed, his fingernails pressing into his palm. He could still remember Crabbe’s funeral, a pitifully small, almost secret affair, considering the uprising of protests at Death Eater burials. Crabbe’s mother had sobbed quietly, standing alone, as her husband was already in Azkaban. Draco could recall the dank mist that had hovered over the graveyard, blurring the silhouettes of Pansy, Blaise, Theo, and Greg, who looked lost without his closest friend. A stab of guilt struck Draco – when was the last time he’d even spoken to Greg?

“-ister Malfoy?” McGonagall repeated, an unimpressed eyebrow cocked over her spectacles.

“Pardon?” Draco blinked, refusing to flush when everyone stared at him. The headmistress’ eyes seemed to spark with amusement for a moment.

“I was asking if you had any thoughts to add to the conversation before we begin discussing ways to quench the fire.”

“Oh, no; I don’t believe so.”

“Very well then. Miss Granger, you have something to add?” McGonagall asked, watching Granger, who seemed confused on whether she should raise her hand in this environment or not.

“Yes. I’ve been studying some old texts about Fiendfyre since Harry told me a couple of hours ago, and I’ve found some ways that won’t work at defeating the flames.”

“That seems like extraneous information, does it not?” Blaise asked dryly.

Granger narrowed her eyes at him. “Well, I find it’s easier to come up with solutions to solve a problem if you first eliminate superfluous ideas.” Blaise shrugged, gesturing a hand for her to continue. Granger cleared her throat, pulling out a scrap of paper from her robes. “Well, Fiendfyre is cursed fire, so merely using water will not work. Also, trying to build some sort of barrier to contain the flames won’t work, considering the flames can burn through nearly anything. Now, I think that Hogwarts is using up that energy trying to continuously create new shields for the fire to burn through, so that it can’t reach the real walls of the castle and spread.”

“So we can’t use water and we can’t contain it indefinitely, or at least not without using up copious amounts of magic. What _can_ we do?” Hobby summarized.

Silence filled the room.

McGonagall sighed. “I see. Well, I want all of you to think of some ideas on how to stop this thing; let’s meet back here after dinner and find a solution. Now, I’m sure all of you have groups you are supposed to be aiding around the castle.” The five stood, Hobby heading out the door first, followed by Blaise and Draco, who purposefully ignored Potter’s presence behind him.

The group stepped down the winding staircase from the office, walking into a cavernous corridor. Hobby turned left and was gone. “So, I think Pans and Theo are a part of the team finishing up the dungeons – want to head there?” Blaise asked Draco.

He was in the middle of shrugging in agreement when Granger cleared her throat behind them. “Actually, Zabini, I was wondering if I could share some thoughts with you regarding your wandless magic theories. I read your article in _The Sorcerer’s Scribe_ and was intrigued by some of your points.” Blaise blinked down at the serious woman. Draco glanced at Potter, who was watching Draco from Granger’s right side. That emerald gaze made Draco’s chest feel as though it was filled with sand.

“Sure thing, Granger. Let’s walk,” Blaise said, gesturing down the corridor before winking at Draco; Granger stole a glance at Draco before following Blaise with a smile on her lips. Their footsteps were loud in the echoing hallway as they stepped out of sight.

Tension settled against Draco’s skin, pressing into his temples and his eardrums as he kept his eyes fixed firmly on the shadows where Blaise and Granger had turned.

“’lo,” Potter mumbled.

The greeting sliced into Draco’s stoicism, but he kept his face as indifferent as possible. Grey, unhappy light seeped in through the windows across from them, and the air still held the heaviness of the rain that left clamminess on Draco’s skin.

He took a deep breath, stealing himself. _You’ll have to face Potter sometime_ , his thoughts whispered. He turned, finally meeting Potter entirely. “Hello, Potter,” he said icily. Potter’s face was pale, hesitant uncertainty looking foreign on those features, ones Draco was so used to seeing covered with arrogance and self-confidence.

Potter opened his mouth to say something, but closed it without any words being released. Draco couldn’t help but watch those lips, their hard, warm press still murmuring against his mind.

“Dra-Malfoy, can we talk?” Potter asked quietly, doing that thing where he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. It was tempting, for a moment, to believe in the fantasy that he would agree and that Potter would confess his love, and that they’d kiss and everything would end in roses and smiles and bouts of incredible sex, like in those romance novels Pansy read during fifth year.

“Unless it’s about fixing Hogwarts, Potter, we don’t have anything to talk about,” Draco said simply, trying to keep the bitterness out of his tone as he supressed the part of himself that desperately wished he was a different person, the one who could fall into Potter’s arms and weep for a requited love.

Potter’s gaze hardened, and the expressionless mask that Draco recognized from months before reappeared. “Fine. Let’s talk about Hogwarts, then. Care to discuss it while we walk to the Great Hall?” Draco was surprised by Potter’s easy ability to compartmentalize, but was grateful for the change in conversation. If only Potter would let him leave and never have to face those piercing eyes again.

“Fine, Potter.” The two men began down the corridor, that tension still pressing into Draco’s back. “So, any plans on how to be the saviour of the day once again?” He asked flippantly, watching Potter’s cold expression out of the corner of his eye.

“I thought _you_ were our resident expert on magical theory,” Potter stated passively. “And we both know you have plenty of experience with the Room of Hidden Things.” That stung, the angry tint to Potter’s words causing Draco’s shoulders to stiffen.

“I’m hardly an expert on cursed fire, Potter,” Draco sneered, trying to remain civil.

Potter scoffed. “Your crony, Crabbe, sure was. I thought he must’ve gotten that knowledge from you,” he sneered. The image of Crabbe’s mother, crying softly at her son’s funeral, snapped into Draco’s mind, and something in him cracked.

He stopped, turning to shove Potter against the stone wall, shaking with anger. Potter glared at him, surprised into inaction. “Don’t you _dare_ say a word about Crabbe,” Draco snarled, his fingernails digging into Potter’s shoulders. “I don’t mention any of the people you lost in the war, so don’t fucking talk about the ones I –,” his voice broke embarrassingly, and he stared at his feet as blood pounded beneath his skin.

The two breathed heavily.

“I’m sorry,” Potter finally whispered, causing Draco to look up from the floor. “You’re right – that was outta line.” Potter’s hands reached out, those rough fingers pressing themselves into Draco’s hips as soft lines around Potter’s eyes creased with sincerity.

And then it was like a spell – the sudden, magnetizing need Draco felt pull him into the muscled, angular heat of Potter’s chest. He closed his eyes as he pressed his mouth to Potter’s in an aching, desperate kiss, feeling dizzy when Potter immediately responded, sliding his grip to Draco’s arse, pulling Draco’s hardening erection against his thigh.

Draco bit off the groan that threatened to escape, clawing at Potter’s shoulders and neck as he rode his thigh, painfully-arousing friction sending heat all through his body. Potter suddenly pushed Draco backwards, turning them so that Draco’s back hit the cold wall before Potter’s thigh was once again grinding against Draco’s confined cock, causing Draco to pant brokenly into the soft skin of Potter’s neck.

Potter pressed his mouth against Draco’s hairline, the cool _clink!_ of those glasses against Draco’s scalp keeping him grounded against the onslaught of lust. “Potter,” he groaned, his head falling back against the stone wall as Potter sucked love bites onto the thin skin of his neck.

“What?” He asked between soft kisses to Draco’s jaw.

“Stop that, or I’m go- _oh!-_ ing to –” But then one of Potter’s hands was trailing down his front, cupping the straining bulge on the front of Draco’s trousers. Potter leaned his forehead against Draco’s, a dark glint in his eyes as he watched Draco’s face intensely. “I’m going to come, you bastard,” Draco managed to gasp as he tightened his hold around Potter’s shoulders, crying out as Potter twisted his grip just right.

“Good,” Potter mumbled huskily before he caught Draco’s mouth in an oddly soft kiss, the tenderness of the act causing one final shiver to run up Draco’s spine before he was shaking in Potter’s grasp, white static filling his senses.

Draco quivered from aftershocks, feeling the dampness in his pants already beginning to stick and dry to his skin. Potter was looking at him, high, bright spots of colour on his cheeks as he rubbed his thumbs in soothing circles on the taught skin of Draco’s abdomen, exposed by his rucked-up shirt.

Draco could feel Potter’s erection against his hip, and was feeling fuzzy and warm from his own orgasm as he reached up to tug at Potter’s ridiculously-messy hair, pulling him in for a lazy, wet kiss as he skimmed his fingers across the top of Potter’s jeans.

“Merlin’s bollocks,” a voice cursed to Draco’s left.

His eyes sprung open as he shoved Potter away, and his gaze fell upon a shocked Theo, who stared at the pair with wide brown eyes, his mouth agape.

Those eyes flicked to Draco’s and Harry’s rumpled clothes, the bruises kissed onto Draco’s pale skin, Potter’s obvious erection, and the damp spot on Draco’s crotch that the blonde frantically spelled away wandlessly.

“Theo, we were just –” Draco futilely wracked his mind for some sort of excuse, for once drawing a complete blank. Theo snapped his mouth shut, an amused expression coming over his face.

“No need to explain to me, Draco.” He grinned mercilessly. “However, I suggest finding a more private place to shag – pretty sure I just saw Davies walking around here a moment ago. Well, good luck, you two,” he beamed as he turned back the way he came, waving lazily over his shoulder before stepping out of sight.

Draco could feel his entire face bloom into a burning, crimson blush. Potter shuffled his feet awkwardly, drawing Draco’s attention to him. “Did that ‘never happen’ either?” Potter asked quietly, sullenness glinting in his eye.

Merlin, Draco was just so _tired_ of it all.

He sighed, raising a hand to rub against one of his temples, willing away the headache that was blooming. “What do you want me to say, Potter?” He tried to keep the frustration from his tone, but could still hear it in his broken words. Potter’s mouth tightened unhappily, and he bent his head.

“I don’t know, Malfoy.” He looked up, those lips twisted into a rueful grin. “This is fucked up.”

Draco stared at him.

And then he laughed a horrible, breathless laugh that reminded him of his father.

“Of course it’s fucked up, Potter. It’s _us_. The mere idea of the two us being _intimate_ is fucking ridiculous.” Draco returned Potter’s fading grin, knowing his flash of teeth looked more like a grimace. “So let’s finally be clear about this – no shagging, or kissing, or friendly conversation, even. We’re enemies-turned-peers, Potter.”

Potter’s expression was stony. “Then why did you kiss me just now?”

Draco felt as though the air had been sucked out of his lungs.

“Why did _you_ kiss me this morning?” The words burned his tongue, making his entire being feel tight with the need with which he wanted Potter’s answer.

His pulse rocketed as Potter opened his mouth, finally – **_BOOM!_**

The two men jumped at the rumbling, louder than any thunder they’d ever heard. “What the fuck was that?” Potter asked, only to be interrupted by another equally loud ripping noise. Silver eyes met emerald in confused nervousness.

McGonagall’s voice suddenly reverberated through the hallway, magically projected around the school. “ _Everyone report to the seventh floor immediately!_ ”

Draco shared one last look with Potter before they were running down the corridor.

o

There was a budding crowd forming around the Room of Requirement when they finally made their way up to the seventh floor. The sea of witches and wizards seemed to part before Potter, who made his way to McGonagall’s side. Draco stayed on the fringe of the group, watching the scene with Blaise and Pansy at his side.

Draco couldn’t pick up what Potter and the headmistress were discussing, but the anxious wrinkle that formed between Potter’s brows was not a good sign. McGonagall nodded shortly at something that Granger said to her, then pointed her wand at the aging, veined skin on her throat.

“Thank you all for your speed – we have a crisis here. For those who haven’t heard – there is Fiendfyre trapped in the Room of Requirement, and it is siphoning Hogwarts’ magic. Apparently, the castle has started to run out of energy.

“I ask all of you to look at the walls around you, and observe any abnormalities.” Draco, along with the rest of the group, frowned and turned his head, staring at the familiar expanses of the walls around them. The stone seemed normal; the torches were shining regularly; the portraits –

“Why are all of the portraits empty?” Draco asked in the suddenly quiet hallway. McGonagall nodded sombrely.

“Exactly, Mister Malfoy. Hogwarts has apparently started to siphon magic from any objects in the immediate vicinity of the Room. In this case, the portraits’ innate supply of magic that is infused in their paintings has been absorbed in Hogwarts’ desperation to keep the Fiendfyre from breaking out into the rest of the castle.” Confused, worried mumblings buzzed through the air like a swarm of insects.

“What can we do, Headmistress?” A voice asked loudly. McGonagall frowned, looking incredibly weary.

“That is the question. Fiendfyre is cursed fire, and has very few weaknesses, if any. I am open to all suggestions and ideas, considering Hogwarts will continue to consume its own magic the longer we wait. Any solutions can be brought to me, Mister Potter, or Miss Granger at any time. Until then, we can only continue our repairs in the hope that Hogwarts doesn’t burn from the inside out in the next few days.” McGonagall raised her wand again, quieting her voice.

“Fucking hell,” Blaise breathed, honest worry on his handsome features. Pansy nodded, biting her thumbnail in a habit from her younger years.

Draco stood silently, feeling Hogwarts’ distress shoot through his core.

o

Dinner was a subdued affair, with murmured conversations that held the heaviness of apprehension and failure.

“Do you have any thoughts about what to do?” Theo asked quietly, picking at the stew. Draco sighed, shaking his head as he took a bite of tasteless bread. He was grateful that his drama with Potter was side-lined by Hogwarts’ crisis – another scandal was the last thing Draco or Potter needed at this moment.

“No. Even if we did have a spell, there’s no way to access the flames. The entranceway to the Room is sealed off, probably by the castle itself.”

“Well, let’s say that there was a way to get to the fire – what spell would we even use?” Pansy asked primly, her eyes on the head of the table, where Potter, Weasley, and Granger sat in a concentrated huddle.

“We know water doesn’t work,” Theo began.

“And we can’t use _finite incantatem_ ,” Blaise continued.

Oliver cleared his throat as he and Marcus joined the group of younger Slytherins. “I think you are looking at this all wrong – Fiendfyre is still fire, after all. And there are some things that fire has to have, otherwise it’ll burn out.”

“Care to elaborate, Wood?”

“Well, it has to have fuel, which we think Hogwarts is accidently supplying by creating more shields; space is also a requirement, but only because fire has to have oxygen.”

“Are you sure that Fiendfyre needs the same things, though? Magically-infused elements are very different from those found in nature, you know,” Theo added. Oliver shrugged, and silence fell upon them once again.

“So, what –”

_CRASH!_

The Hall’s inhabitants collectively jumped, all dreading whatever Hogwarts had done now. But the sound didn’t stop, instead the chattering of dozens of voices filled the Entrance Hall, the sounds bleeding through the Great Hall’s grand entryway. Theo and Draco shared an uneasy look.

The huge doors burst open, revealing a pack of excited men and women, all with cameras hanging around their necks, quills clutched in their hands. Rita Skeeter beamed oily from the front of the crowd.

“Harry, we finally found you,” she said delightedly.

Draco whipped his head around to stare at Potter, who seemed to be having the same thought Draco was.

_Oh, shit._

ooOoo

To be Continued…

ooOoo

 


	12. Lesson Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! A little announcement:  
> So, I mentioned before that this was originally posted on Fanfiction.net yet that this featured heavy edits. Well, this chapter in particular is where I've completely scrapped what I originally wrote and am starting over with the final act of this story. So, I'm gonna leave the link to the original story here just in case you wanted to read that version, which is very formulaic but some people enjoyed it, and I'll keep working on this version here.   
> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10096612/12/Wednesday-Lessons  
> Okay, thanks for your attention!

o

Lesson Twelve

o

“What the fuck are _you_ doing here?” Potter growled, his voice carrying over the noiseless hall. Rita Skeeter pouted falsely.

“Didn’t you miss me, Harry? We’ve all been so worried about your whereabouts,” she simpered, her Quick-Quotes Quill scratching eagerly onto her notepad. One of the other reporters raised their camera, taking a picture with a blinding burst of light. And as though the first domino had been toppled, the group of journalists were in a frenzy, taking pictures and asking loud questions.

Draco and Theo shared another glance before turning back the chaos unfolding in front of them and the thunderous look on Potter’s face. Draco watched with a sense of foreboding as Potter pulled his rarely-used wand out of his pocket, flicking it in the direction of the press.

There was a soft buzzing, and then everything was silent. Rita Skeeter was frozen, her mouth pulled into a leering smile, the other witches and wizards stuck in a similarly immobile state around her.

Draco raised his eyebrows, knowing that casting a spell over a group simultaneously required a lot of power. _I guess that’s why he used his wand_ , he thought absently as he stared at the Boy Wonder, who was glaring at the life-like statues across the hall.

“Mister Potter?” That calm, powerful voice echoed through the hall as Headmistress McGonagall stepped around the reporters, her eyebrows raised questioningly as she gazed at Potter, who look mildly sheepish. “Would you care to explain what is happening here?”

“Uh…”

“Skeeter barged in here, Headmistress. Potter was just trying to make ‘em shut up for a moment,” Flint said unexpectedly, drawing everyone’s attention to his neutral expression. Wood nodded at his right.

“Exactly, Headmistress,” Granger added, Weasley agreeing fervently.

McGonagall’s expression remained unimpressed, but Draco could swear he saw her eyes twinkle with amusement. “I see.” She turned her stare onto the unmoving Skeeter. “I see no harm in letting our guests remain stationary for a few hours as we deal with our new crisis.” She pulled out her wand, levitating the frozen group and moving them to one of the empty corners of the Great Hall.

“Well, let’s return to dinner, shall we?” McGonagall suggested with a mild smile, and soft snickers could be heard amongst the quiet chatter that bloomed in the room.

“Well, that was interesting,” Pansy said she returned to her meal, daintily taking a bite of her bread. Blaise shrugged as he too turned away from the excitement.

Draco’s eyes watched Potter, who was stowing his wand away in his trousers, those green eyes focused on Granger, who was gesturing to some tome sitting in front of her. His stomach jolted when he remembered the meeting McGonagall had called for after dinner, to discuss ways to stop the Fiendfyre.

_It simply comes down to the fact that we need the counter-curse to Fiendfyre. Without that, all of our efforts will be futile. But where to get it?_

He stood, needing some quiet in order to focus. “I’m not that hungry anymore,” he mumbled to Theo, who nodded. Draco’s could feel his friend’s concerned gaze on his back as he stepped through the entrance, relishing in the cool breeze that wafted in through the front doors that still swung open from Skeeter’s dramatic entrance.

The quiet darkness called to him, and he slipped through the entryway.

The night air held the chill from the recent rain, and soft, watery moonlight spotted the dark grounds as he walked with no clear direction in mind. The empty husk of Hagrid’s hut was a dark smudge against the purple and blue haziness of the grounds. Draco couldn’t help but remember the night it had first burned, how he’d stumbled through the battle, following the dark outline of Severus’ figure through the death and fear. And how life had only gotten worse from there.

That’d been the night he’d realized he was on the wrong side of the war, how stupid and unprepared he had been to take on his parents’ battle.

That’d been the night he’d truly stopped hating Harry Potter.

“Mister Malfoy.” Draco stiffened, startled by the calm voice that drifted through the darkness. He turned, wincing at the sudden brightness of an illuminated wand. He blinked away the spots from his vision –

“Miss Talkalot?” The editor smiled, her olive eyes shining in the light from the tip of her wand.

“Good evening, Mister Malfoy. I’m glad that I ran into you out here. After all, I understand that Mister Potter greeted some of my colleagues with a less than friendly attitude.” Talkalot’s mouth quirked into a grin.

“Potter’s relationship with the press has always been one filled with strife,” Draco smiled weakly. “Is there some reason why you are here at Hogwarts?”

“Well, when you didn’t respond to my owl about doing another interview for _The Snake Whisperer_ , I decided to come meet you in person to discuss our further communications. My sources led me to Hogwarts. It’s a mere coincidence that the news that Harry Potter was here as well broke this morning.”

Draco frowned, breaking eye contact with Talkalot to glance off into the darkness – the flickering lights of Hogwarts sparkled across the wavering surface of the lake. “I see,” Draco finally muttered. “I’m not sure I’m interested in another interview, Miss Talkalot. And I can hardly speak for Potter, but I doubt his interest in the opportunity as well.”

Talkalot hummed noncommittally. “Very well. I don’t wish to impose. If you change your mind, though, I’ll be staying at the Hog’s Head in Hogsmeade for the next few days dealing with various business. Please feel free to come by.” She reached out her free hand, which Draco shook.

“I’ll definitely consider it. Good evening, Miss Talkalot,” Draco nodded before he turned back to the castle. Wet blades of grass hugged the hem of his trousers as he neared the entryway.

_Wonderful,_ another _thing to consider._

**_BOOM!_ **

Draco jerked his head up, his eyes widening as one-by-one, every glowing window on the castle went out – the black night seeming to swallow Hogwarts completely.

“-the hell?”

Draco remained frozen for another minute, straining his senses for any inclination of danger. _Hogwarts must’ve sapped the energy from the hundreds of torches_ , he realized _._ Draco hesitantly pushed open the door to the Entrance Hall, conjuring a small flame in his palm. Eerie shadows flickered against the walls, and his footsteps echoed loudly.

He made his way to the staircase, peering into the darkness for anyone else. “Draco?”

“Granger?” The lighted tip of Granger’s wand lit her features in a pale glow as she neared Draco. She frowned faintly.

“I was just heading to the Headmistress’ office when the torches went out. I assume Hogwarts is draining more magic.” Draco nodded, stepping alongside Granger as they climbed the stairs.

“That’s what I’d guess.” Draco glanced at Granger out of the corner of his eye, noticing how she was staring at the flame in his palm with blatant fascination. “Granger?”

She blinked. “Oh, sorry. I just find the similarities and differences between your and Harry’s abilities really interesting. Did you have a chance to read my dissertation?”

“Not yet. Things have been rather chaotic around here.”

Granger’s mouth twitched into a sheepish smile. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Her expression turned solemn as they turned down the hallway towards the Headmistress’ office. “Have you had any thoughts regarding how to stop the Fiendfyre?”

“Only that we must get the counter-curse somehow. I doubt that the fire can be stopped by any natural methods, or Hogwarts would have done so already.” Granger nodded in agreement as they stepped past the broken gargoyle that guarded the office’s entrance.

“Yes, I agree. But I’ve already been searching for days in the Hogwarts library, and contact with some of my connections has proved fruitless as well.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, stopping the hand that he’d raised to knock on the door. “You’ve been in the library here?”

Granger blinked. “Yes, of course.”

“Didn’t the room feel _odd_ to you?”

Granger stared at Draco strangely. “No, it was the same as it always was. Do you –”

The door suddenly swung open from the inside, revealing McGonagall, Blaise, Hobby, and Potter all seated already. “Mister Malfoy, Miss Granger; please come in.” Draco took the seat between Blaise and Hobby, Granger sitting next to Potter. The office was illuminated with dozens of candles floating dreamily through the air, sometimes bumping into each other and causing drops of hot wax to _plop!_ onto the floor.

McGonagall cleared her throat, adjusting her spectacles on her nose. “Now that we are all here, I’d like to discuss any thoughts about stopping the Fiendfyre which, as we can all see by the sudden lack of light, is beginning to do more damage. Who would care to share their ideas?”

Granger raised her hand slightly until McGonagall nodded at her. Granger swallowed nervously. “Well, I’ve come to the conclusion, and Draco seems to as well, that we _must_ find the counter-curse for the Fiendfyre. After all, if there was some other way to destroy the flames, one would think that all of the magic Hogwarts is taking would be adequate to smother it somehow.”

McGonagall frowned. “And how do you suggest we find this spell, Miss Granger? I assume that you have already tried to find it in the books here at Hogwarts.”

Granger looked mildly upset. “Yes, I have looked extensively. However, given some more time –”

“We don’t have much longer until Hogwarts falls,” Hobby proclaimed suddenly, causing a shocked silence to fall in the room.

“What do you mean, until it falls?” Potter finally asked. Draco could see his stony expression out of the corner of his eye and didn’t envy Hobby, who merely stared sombrely back.

“From the rate the magical depletion is spreading, I’d say we have one, two days at the maximum before the walls of the castle start to crumble to dust. And everything is rather pointless after the structure collapses.”

“So this is a very time-sensitive quest, then, isn’t it?” Blaise stated calmly. “The obvious next step is picking who to contact for information about the Fiendfyre.”

“If we knew who had the counter-curse, this discussion would hardly be as dire as it is, Zabini,” Potter glared.

“Well, Potter, the answer is obvious, isn’t it? The Fiendfyre is Dark magic. Dark magic that Death Eaters would be pretty familiar with. So, where are some Death Eaters we can ask?”

“I’m hardly going to visit Azkaban just to ask for a favour from murderers,” Potter growled. Blaise shrugged.

“Suit yourself. And, anyways, going to Azkaban would be a waste of time. Nearly every Death Eater that was captured has been found dead, some way or another.” Draco suppressed a shudder, remembering the horrible reports of the Death Eaters who’d been found slaughtered in their cells, the newspapers barely containing the glee at their murders. He remembered his mother’s looks, her strained knuckles as she would stare at the Floo, her eyes far away.

“Then what are suggesting we do, Mister Zabini?” McGonagall cut in smoothly.

Blaise shrugged again.

Draco opened his mouth, an idea forming as he spoke. “That group of reporters frozen in the Great Hall - put them to use and broadcast Hogwarts’ need for a Dark witch or wizard with an expertise in cursed fire.” Everyone stared at him with varying expressions on their features.

Blaise said, “Seems like a solid idea to me,” and Hobby nodded in agreement.

“No.”

Draco met Potter’s eyes, which were burning with anger. “Are you just being contrary for the sake of being contrary, Potter?” Draco seethed quietly.

“No, I’m not,” Potter groused back. “If you let Skeeter or anyone else announce what a state Hogwarts is in, it’ll be the end. People are already doubtful of Hogwarts being safe after all the damage the Battle caused – we cannot give them more reason to keep kids from coming back here.”

“That’s an idiotic argument,” Draco sneered. “If you don’t ask for help now, Potter, there’ll be no Hogwarts for children to come back to at all. Do you really value keeping Hogwarts’ past reputation over its future legacy?”

“Harry, I think Draco has a point,” Granger piped up. “This really would be the best way to get a large audience’s attention quickly. The risk of negatively impacting Hogwarts’ image is worth the possibility of getting the counter-curse fast enough to save Hogwarts.”

Potter clenched his fists. “It’s not just that,” he bit out after a pause. “If we let the public know that Hogwarts’ defences are so vulnerable, what’s to keep Dark wizards from attacking? We all know that there are dozens of uncaptured Death Eaters and lunatics who’d love to destroy this place or, worse, make it unstable enough to hurt the students who do return in a few weeks.”

“That’s a risk we have to take, Potter,” Blaise added. “Those ‘lunatics’ are the ones who’ll know how to stop the Fiendfyre.”

“I still think it’s safer to contact as few Dark wizards or witches as possible.”

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. “Do you have someone particular in mind?”

Draco’s mouth went bone-dry as Potter turned to him. “Surely Lucius Malfoy would know how to stop the Fiendfyre. And I remember that he managed to bribe his way out of capture.”

Draco could feel the weight of the eyes of everyone in the room, but all he could see was bitterness in Potter’s gaze, the undercurrent of loathing that he knew wasn’t for him, but that didn’t make it any less painful to be on the receiving end of.

“Lucius Malfoy is unable to be contacted,” he lied lowly, finally breaking his fixation on Potter to stare at the sleeping portrait of Snape above McGonagall’s chair. A pang of aching jolted in his abdomen as he watched the rise and fall of Severus’s chest. _Too much loss_.

“Oh, really?” Potter narrowed his eyes. “And why is that?”

Rage, raw, burning rage began to build in Draco’s chest as he dug his fingernails into his leg. “That is hardly any of your concern, Potter, so drop it.”

“It _is_ my concern, Malfoy! It’s _all_ of our concern if your father knows how to stop the Fiendfyre. So unless your father is dead, which would only be what he deserves–”

Potter didn’t even finish his sentence before Draco was leaping out of his seat, punching Potter across the jaw as their combined weight caused the chair to topple onto the floor. Blaise and Granger were shouting something, but Draco didn’t hear them as he struggled with Potter, who’d grabbed hold of Draco’s wrists as they rolled on the cold floor. Pain blossomed across Draco’s nose as Potter shoved an elbow into his face, and the taste of blood filled his mouth. Draco lifted a knee, slamming it into Potter’s stomach. Potter groaned in discomfort as Draco raised a hand, horrible, painful spells on his mind as he reached for Potter’s face –

“That’s _enough_ , gentlemen.”

Invisible hands were dragging Draco and Potter apart and into the arms of Blaise and Granger, respectively. An angry, purple bruise was quickly spreading across Potter’s cheek, and Draco could feel blood continue to drip from his nose, which throbbed agonisingly. They glared at each other across the office, and only broke their stare as McGonagall stood from her seat, stepping between the two.

Her voice was stern, with all of the warmth of a glacier. “I might have expected this behaviour when the two of you were students here, but this is hardly the time or place to be succumbing to violence. I expected more out of the both of you.” Guilt pricked Draco’s stomach, but he ignored it, the festering burn of anger and pain causing his skin to itch with adrenaline.

McGonagall narrowed her eyes at the pair of them. “I no longer have the responsibility to keep the two of you from hurting each other, so deal with this mess yourselves. And, to keep Hogwarts from paying for your immaturity, we’ll be implementing _both_ of the plans discussed. Mister Malfoy, you are to contact your father, and Mister Potter will tell the reporters of Hogwarts’ need. Tonight.” Draco clenched his fists, enraged, but kept his emotions to himself. Weary irritation covered McGonagall’s face before she turned her back on them. “You are all dismissed – except Hobby, you may stay. The rest of you are to report to me tomorrow morning.”

Draco tore his arm out of Blaise’s grip, reaching up to heal his nose as he smeared blood across the back of his wrist. He could hear Granger muttering something patronizing to Potter, but stormed out of the room before he could make out the words.

Draco practically ran down the shadowed hallway, his blood pounding in his veins.

_Fucking Potter, talking about my fa- Lucius._

_He knows nothing._

_He doesn’t care – he doesn’t –_

“Draco?” Theo asked worriedly from his stance next to the entranceway of Draco’s rooms. “Where have you – _mmph!_ ” Draco desperately kissed Theo, wrapping his arms around Theo’s shoulders and clinging to Theo’s shirt.

Theo remained frozen for a moment before he gently kissed back, reaching up to slowly untangle himself from Draco’s grip. “Draco, hold on for a second,” he ordered quietly. Theo’s eyebrows were scrunched with confused worry. “What’s wrong? Why is there blood all over your hand? And weren’t you snogging Potter just a few hours ago, so why…?” He gestured at his mouth as he took another step back.

Draco glared at the floor, wishing he was in bed…or maybe that he’d managed to punch Potter a few more times.

“Nothing, Theo. Sorry. Goodnight,” he said shortly as he turned to place his hand on the doorknob, which shrieked like normal.

But Theo reached out, grabbing his other wrist. “Wait, Draco. Are you sure you’re alright? Did Potter hurt you or something?” Draco sighed, his eyes burning as he stared at his pale fingers, his bony knuckles, his jagged nails that used to be so carefully maintained.

He turned an eerie smile on Theo before he stepped through the door. “Of course not, Theo. Like the Saviour could wound me.”

ooOoo

Draco laid his head on his arms, scraps of unfinished letters strewn around his desk like carcasses on a battlefield. The soft night breeze wafted through the crack in the window, and the candlelight flickered, causing his shadow to shrink and grow grotesquely.

“I’ll never finish this fucking thing,” he muttered sleepily into the crook of his elbow. Hermes _hoot_ -ed soothingly from his perch on the back of Draco’s chair, his shining golden eyes surveying all.

Draco groaned as he stood from his seat, stretching his cramped muscles. His robes _swish_ -ed around him, and something fell out of his pocket. He leaned down, picking up the parcel of letters he’d received this morning. The correspondence from Talkalot caught his eye, and he petted Hermes absently as he ran a thumb over her script.

_Even if Potter does follow McGonagall’s instruction, Skeeter is hardly going to be reaching those who are most likely to know the spell…_

Draco tossed the stack of letters onto his desk, causing the failed drafts of his letter to Lucius to rustle and dance in the breeze. “I suppose I’ll be visiting Hogsmeade tomorrow, Hermes.” The great bird blinked up at Draco, who ran his hand down those regal feathers one last time before he stepped into his bedroom, shucking his clothes haphazardly until only his undershirt and his pants remained.

He yawned widely, his jaw cracking painfully as he neared the bed, which called for him, promising oblivion. He was so close to lying down, being able to black out and forget it all for a few precious hours – _knock, knock, knock_.

“What _now_?” Draco hissed as he angrily dragged his trousers back on as he stormed to his door. He yanked it open, angry words on his tongue, but his voice died in his throat.

“Malfoy. May I come in?”

Draco swallowed, his throat suddenly tight as he clenched his fists.

“Of course, Potter. How could I possibly refuse?”

ooOoo

To be Continued…

ooOoo

 


	13. Lesson Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have an extra-long chapter. Oh, and porn.

o

Lesson Thirteen

o

“Well, come in then.”

Draco stepped back from the doorway, forcing Potter to pass him to enter Draco’s rooms. He watched Potter stop awkwardly in the middle of the sitting area, clearly wondering where to sit, or if he should sit at all. Draco sneered at Potter’s back, closing the door forcefully as Potter took a seat on the arm of the couch.

Draco stood by the empty fireplace, crossing his arms against his chest stiffly. Potter reached out, relighting the candle on the table with a flick of his hand. The light wavered, causing glint to shine off of Potter’s lenses. Satisfaction flashed in Draco’s stomach as the massive bruise on Potter’s jaw seemed to darken in the glow.

“What do you want, Potter? It’s bloody one in the morning.”

The corners of Potter’s mouth twitched into a frown, and Draco saw him turn his head enough to stare at the mess on Draco’s desk. “I see you’ve been working on the letter. Have you sent it yet?” Potter looked at Draco as though he already knew the answer.

Draco sneered, his skin prickling with anger. “What, Potter, you don’t trust me to have followed McGonagall’s orders?”

“No.”

Draco couldn’t stop his flinch at the iciness of Potter’s tone.

“Have _you_ talked with Skeeter yet?” Draco hissed back in return, smirking cruelly when Potter averted his eyes. “That’s what I thought. So don’t patronize me, Potter. I don’t have to do anything I don’t wish to.”

Potter glowered at Draco. “Why are you being so fucking difficult about this, Malfoy?” Potter’s voice rose as he stood from his seat, rounding the table so that the candlelight lit up his figure like some sort of righteous avenging angel. “We all know that you’re the one most likely to know how to get the fucking spell, so would you just set aside your hatred for me and this castle and everyone for one _fucking_ minute and _help us_?” Potter yelled, his hands clenched into trembling fists at his sides.

Draco’s temper flared dangerously. “You don’t think I want to help, Potter? That’s all I’ve been doing this whole fucking time! Just because I don’t want to bring my problems with my father into this –”

“What problems could be important enough that they’re worth destroying Hogwarts and its entire legacy?” Potter spat, entirely unsympathetic.

“It’s none of your fucking concern–”

“Yes, _it is_!”

Draco’s control snapped.

“Oh, _really_ , Potter?” He shouted. “You think that my father disowning me because I’m _a_ _fucking poof_ is your concern?” Draco took a step forward, raised his hands to grab the neckline of Potter’s shirt, dragging him closer. “You think that you have any right to ask about my personal life after you fucked off to who-knows-where this summer? You think you have any right to act like you fucking _care_ about me? Well, you fucking _don’t_ ,” Draco hissed into Potter’s face, sickly enjoying how shocked Potter seemed to be.

They stood in tense silence, intimately pressed against one another.

“Draco,” Potter finally whispered, his eyes swimming with sympathy as he reached up to lightly grip Draco’s wrist.

Draco jerked back from Potter as though he’d been burned, his expression twisting into an ugly scowl. “Don’t you dare pity me, Potter. Don’t you fucking _dare_.” But Potter’s face remained agonizingly open, and he reached out to touch Draco again.

Draco attempted to swat Potter’s hand away but Potter grabbed his wrists tightly, restricting him from movement.

“Let go of me, Potter. I’m warning you,” Draco said darkly, his voice a quiet murmur. Potter seemed unaffected, trying to meet Draco’s eyes, which were focused on a spot below Potter’s shoulder.

“Draco, would you just listen to me? I had no idea that your father had – had done that. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have–”

Draco’s eyes flashed with spite, pinning Potter with his stare. “You wouldn’t have _what_ , Potter? You wouldn’t have placed Hogwarts before me? Yes, you would’ve. We’re not _mates_ , Potter,” Draco said, his fury vanishing suddenly, a great weariness taking its place as he averted his eyes from Potter’s. “And I think we’ve made it pretty fucking clear that we can’t be anything more than that, either. So let me go and get out. I’ll write the fucking letter.”

Draco tugged at Potter’s grip, which remained steadfast.

“No,” Potter whispered, sounding irritated.

“’No’ about what? Circe, Potter, your lack of eloquence is so fucking annoying,” Draco seethed, still attempting to free himself.

“We _are_ more than that,” Potter murmured, abruptly pulling Draco in so that they stood flush against one another.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Draco breathed, Potter’s mouth perilously close to his own.

“I’m telling you that I _do_ care about you and – and that I meant that kiss this morning, and the shag later. I fucking _meant_ it, Draco. And I know that you meant it, too.” The air suddenly felt too thick to breathe, and all Draco could see was a sea of green before a mouth crashed into his, bumping their teeth together painfully. Draco remained frozen for only a moment before he pushed against the hold on his wrists, backing Potter up until they fell onto the couch, twisting against one another. Draco freed one of his hands as Potter slipped his tongue into his mouth, causing Draco’s stomach to swoop lowly with arousal, frustration, and some dark emotion he couldn’t name.

He pulled back, leaning above Potter on their prone position on the couch. Draco panted unevenly, taking in Potter’s blown pupils, the flush climbing up Potter’s neck, the erection pressing up against his own. “Draco–” Potter began, but Draco cut off his words.

“ _Fuck_.”

He leaned down, running his fingers into Potter’s ridiculous hair, capturing Potter’s mouth in a deep kiss. Draco could feel Potter’s groan vibrating through his chest, and made a soft noise when Potter nipped at the tip of his tongue. Potter’s rough hands ran down Draco’s back, slipping beneath his thin undershirt to touch his heated skin.

Draco jerked his hips unconsciously, stifling his moan against Potter’s throat at the friction. Potter huffed against his ear, reaching between them to fumble with the buttons of Draco’s trousers. “I’d guess that you’d rather not come in your pants this time?” He asked cheekily as Draco tightened his grip on the back of Potter’s head, forcing another kiss as Potter wrapped a hand around Draco, stroking him coarsely.

Draco shivered as Potter’s thumb scraped lightly underneath the head of cock; not wanting to lose in this gratifying competition, Draco tugged at Potter’s jeans, managing to unzip them and run his fingers against the hardness pressing against Potter’s pants.

Potter suddenly pulled back and stumbled off the couch, leaving Draco to stare up at him, his cock still straining against the waistband of his pants. “Potter?”

Potter seemed to swallow, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “Bed,” he finally muttered, his eyes wide as he gaped at Draco.

Draco blinked, lust still thrumming through his body, dazing him. “What?”

“We should do this on a bed. Bed,” Potter repeated; Draco didn’t snipe at Potter’s lack of coherence, feeling similarly wordless.

Draco awkwardly got to his feet, embarrassingly tucking himself back into his trousers as he nodded. “It’s through that door,” Draco gestured, losing his voice when Potter reached out, tugging at the hem of Draco’s top until Draco lifted his arms, letting Potter pull it off of him. The cold air caused Draco to shiver, his nipples stiffening slightly.

Potter took off his own shirt, revealing tanned, toned skin that caused Draco’s waning erection to harden instantly. _Fuck, when did Potter get so fucking_ fit _?_

Draco stepped close enough to Potter to feel his body heat radiating against his front. He ran his fingertips over the quivering muscles of Potter’s abdomen as Potter kissed him, that warm hand cupping Draco’s cheek as they took faltering steps to Draco’s bedroom.

Draco gasped as Potter stopped to press him against his bedroom door, snogging him until he was weak at the knees and groaning for more. They somehow made it onto Draco’s bed, the rushed heat from earlier rekindling between them as Potter ground his hips against Draco’s.

“Fuck,” Draco’s cock jolted at Potter’s breathless curse and he pulled Potter in for a sloppy kiss.

“Take these off,” Draco ordered as he sat up, scrabbling at the waistband of Potter’s jeans. Potter grinned crookedly, causing Draco to lean in and taste that grin, like he always wanted to.

“Only if you do the same,” Potter mumbled against Draco’s lips as he complied, stripping his jeans, pants and socks until he was completely naked, that startlingly green gaze focused on Draco, who became similarly bare.

Draco couldn’t help but stare at Potter’s cock, which was flushed and leaking against a short patch of black curls. Draco saw how Potter was similarly fascinated by his body, one of those hands already reaching out to slide down Draco’s pale stomach, skimming past Draco’s cock to graze the sensitive skin of his inner thigh.

Draco shuddered, getting up on his knees to straddle Potter, who reached up to tug off his glasses, tossing them somewhere out of reach. Draco slung his arms around Potter’s shoulders, digging his fingers into Potter’s spine as he pressed his lips against Potter’s.

Draco closed his eyes, savouring the taste of Potter’s tongue. He jolted when he felt Potter’s hand wrap around them both and Draco rocked into his palm, sighing carelessly into Potter’s mouth.

“Fucking – _ah!_ – hell, Potter,” Draco breathed against Potter’s bruised jaw, licking a stripe down to where Potter’s pulse fluttered rapidly, biting down slightly and earning a rumbling moan in response.

“I know,” Potter murmured, sounding almost drunk with pleasure as he sped up his strokes, his other hand ghosting over Draco’s back before resting on his arse. “You’re _so_ fucking –” Potter trailed off heatedly, tightening his grip around them.

Draco pulled back, looking down to watch the _filthy_ way Potter jerked them, pre-come dripping down Potter’s fingers indecently. He reached down, wrapping his palm around Potter’s hand, forcing a tighter hold around their cocks. Draco moaned and Potter cursed as he leaned up, using his free hand to clasp Draco’s neck, kissing him roughly.

Heat pooled in Draco’s centre and he licked his way into Potter’s mouth, sucking coyly on Potter’s tongue. He pulled back to gasp, “I’m fucking close,” before he was attacking Potter’s mouth again.

Potter groaned, his hand straying from Draco’s neck, down his back, to his arse. Potter ran a finger down his crease, catching against Draco’s hole in a way that sent a shudder up Draco’s spine. Draco continued to shiver, gasping against Potter’s lips as Potter teased at the rim.

And then Draco came, white searing behind his eyelids as his cock twitched, making Potter’s grip slippery with semen. “Oh, _fuck_ ,” Draco heard Potter pant against his temple, and then warmth was hitting Draco’s stomach; he lightly kissed the tender skin underneath Potter’s chin, exposed as Potter threw his head back in climax.

Potter shuddered through the aftershocks as static filled Draco’s ears.

_Don’t think about what you’ve done._

_Just don’t._

“We should clean up,” Potter mumbled, his voice gravelly from exertion. Draco smirked against Potter’s collarbone, raising a hand to wandlessly make them both spotless.

“There. You’re welcome. Now fucking lie back and go to sleep. We’ll deal with this in the morning.”

Draco could feel the tension in Potter’s muscles, could hear his complaint, “Deal with –”

“Sleep, Potter.”

And, amazingly, Potter quieted, falling onto his back and drawing Draco with him.

And they slept.

o

It was barely dawn when Draco jerked awake, his heart pounding as the dregs of a forgotten dream clung to the edges of his consciousness. He sat up in his bed, sweat cooling on the small of his back. He panted for breath, wincing only slightly when he caught sight of Potter flopped out alongside him, breathing slowly in sleep, one leg falling off the edge of the mattress.

Draco sucked in another ragged breath before he pushed himself out of the wrinkled sheets, pulling on some pants and a pair of trousers before he walked out into the outer chamber of his rooms.

He sighed as he shut the bedroom door behind him, resiliently keeping his mind blank. _Don’t think about the Saviour in your bed…who you shagged last night. Just don’t_.

He stumbled over to the desk, plopping in the chair as Hermes soared through the window, a mouse caught in his beak. Draco smiled grimly, watching his owl choke down its prey for a moment before he turned his tired eyes back to the incomplete letter on his desk.

_Fuck it._

He drew forward his latest copy, scanning it briefly for any egregious errors before he scrawled his name at the bottom, ignoring the way his skin crawled, and rolled up the scroll. He approached Hermes, tying the scroll to his talon before stroking his feathers.

“To my father, Hermes. Be sure that he responds quickly.” Those great yellow eyes stared at him solemnly before the owl clicked its beak, coughing up some bones before it flew out of the open window.

“Fuck,” Draco cursed shakily, propping his elbows against the windowsill as he watched Hermes’ outline shrink until it was an undistinguishable dot on the horizon.

“Oh, you’re here,” a voice said quietly from behind him.

Draco stiffened, tensing for a fight – or an awkward conversation at least – as he turned around, facing a mussed Harry Potter. Draco simply stared at Potter, feeling his face flush at the obvious love-bite that blossomed on Potter’s neck and the blatant confidence with which Potter approached him with only pants covering his body.

“Morning,” Potter greeted softly as he neared Draco, eventually leaning against the sill as well, his gaze sharp behind his glasses, which he’d put back on at some point. Draco swallowed dryly, feigning nonchalance as he turned back to the hills rising in the distance, the soft pastels of the morning beginning to pollute the darkness.

“Good morning, Potter,” he responded simply, keeping his eyes averted.

_Fuck, what a mess_. He couldn’t even _face_ Potter.

The two stood in silence, the sky gradually lightening.

“What are we going to tell McGonagall?” Potter asked.

Draco blinked, astonishment smothering his embarrassment for the moment. “Why would we tell her about our fucking, Potter? That hardly sounds like something the headmistress needs to know.”

Potter blushed and he cleared his throat. “No, I – er, wasn’t talking about that. I meant about the plans. I didn’t talk to Skeeter, and you didn’t send the letter. She’s going to be furious.”

Draco’s embarrassment returned, though somewhat calmed now that he’d seen Potter’s stroppy fumbling with the subject as well. “Ah. Well, I actually did send the letter to Lucius just now. He should reply by tonight, if Hermes pesters him like instructed. I can’t know for sure if he’ll relinquish the counter-curse to me, even if he does have the information. He hardly owes me anything anymore,” Draco smiled bitterly, though it looked more like a grimace in the morning light.

He shook his head, as though trying to clear the fog that made his thoughts feel heavy and unwieldy in his mind. “And I don’t know what you should tell McGonagall about not telling Skeeter.” Draco smirked darkly, catching Potter’s eye. “But it’s not like she’ll punish _you_ for not doing as she ordered, after all. The Chosen One doesn’t have to fear anyone, even the Headmistress of Hogwarts.”

Potter frowned, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “That’s not the point, Malfoy. I can’t live my life thinking that I can do whatever I want.”

Draco blinked. “What? Of course you can. That’s the perk of having every English witch and wizard in your debt – you _can_ do what you like.”

Potter glowered at him. “I couldn’t live like that. People shouldn’t feel indebted to me like that.”

“Except they – _we_ – are, Potter. Do you not understand why your birthday is a national holiday?” Draco asked bemusedly, disbelieving how odd Potter’s way of thinking was – how could you not take advantage of such power?

Potter _tsk_ -ed, looking out over the Hogwarts grounds. “I don’t want everyone acting like that around me all the time. I thought it’d pass eventually – that’s one of the reasons I stayed in Romania for so long. But everyone still worships the fucking ground I walk on. It’s been _months_ since the war ended,” Potter beseeched to no one, turning his desperate stare back on Draco, who’d stopped listening.

“Romania? That’s where you were? What the fuck were you doing in Romania?” Draco narrowed his eyes, watching how Potter seemed to flinch minutely at the question, running a hand through his ruffled hair in a nervous gesture.

“Malfoy, I don’t really –”

“You owe me this, Potter. You owe me this explanation.”

Potter frowned, but nodded. “You’re right.” Potter sighed, pushing off the windowsill to walk back to the bedroom. Draco followed, wary.

Potter lay back on the bed, patting the empty side of the mattress when Draco just watched from the doorway. “Come on, I want to be comfortable when I’m telling this story, at least.”

Draco hesitated for only a moment before he nodded, stiffly sitting next to Potter’s warm body on the cool sheets. “Well? It’s about fucking time you told me what happened since you fucked off when that article came out.”

Potter glared. “Hey, I tried to tell you before, but you refused to listen-”

“Get to the story, Potter.”

“Fine.” Potter took a deep breath, staring up at the vaulted ceilings of Draco’s bedroom. “Well, I suppose I have to begin with what happened after the battle here. After all the fighting stopped and it was all over, I returned with Hermione and Ron back to the Burrow.”

“The Burrow?”

“Oh, that’s where all of the Weasleys live.” Draco nodded, the name vaguely recalling a memory of his father proudly strutting through the Manor, talking about how shabby the Weasleys’ hovel was compared to their abode. “Anyways, we stayed there for a while, helping the rest of the family with preparations for Fred’s funeral and recovering a bit after all the chaos.”

A sad smile appeared upon Potter’s lips, and he talked as though he hadn’t realised how revealing his expression had become. “Those days were hard, but also so wonderful compared to the days with Hermione and Ron in the tent, always on the run. We were all bonded together over our grief – one family in mourning as more and more news came in, telling of all who’d died.”

Darkness flashed in Potter’s eyes as he continued to stare at the ceiling. “But then things between me and Ginny began going wrong. I don’t know when it started – maybe when Hermione and Ron left for Australia? Maybe earlier, I don’t know. She just started to avoid me, and when she did talk to me, we fought about the barmiest stuff.” An odd swirl of emotions fluttered in Draco’s chest – jealousy, satisfaction, shame, pride – that he tried to ignore as Potter continued.

Potter turned his head, meeting Draco’s eyes. “It’d been assumed that we were engaged, you know? I never actually proposed, and she’d never officially accepted. Everyone just thought that we’d want to settle down and start having kids right away, and, at first, we didn’t bother correcting them.” Potter laughed darkly. “But neither of us wanted that. Not right away, anyways. Ginny wants to travel the world after she gets her N.E.W.Ts – maybe she’ll end up being the Quidditch player she always wanted to be.” Potter shrugged. “Who knows. All she knew was that she didn’t want all of the burdens that came with being ‘Harry Potter’s fiancée,’ and I was hardly going to blame her for not wanting that life. Fuck, I wouldn’t wish it on her.”

“So things were already bad when your mother owled me. And then the lessons with you began.” Draco swallowed, settling further back onto the pillows behind him. Potter’s arm brushed against the bare skin of his torso, causing gooseflesh to rise on his skin. Potter chuckled, his head turned so that he stared out of the windows, his voice slightly muffled. “And, fuck, those bloody ridiculous lessons were amazing.”

“What do you mean?” Draco whispered, only realizing he’d curled himself close to Potter when he turned his head, Potter’s lips now tantalizingly close to his.

Potter grinned. “You were the same smarmy arsehole you’d always been, and, God, I was so grateful that you didn’t look at me like everything was my fault, or that I was about to fall into a million pieces. Those Wednesdays started to be the highlight of my week.” Potter’s grin slid off, and Draco could’ve sworn that Potter was going to kiss him, but then the moment passed.

Potter sighed, turning away again. “But I guess that must’ve showed, because those rumours that Ginny and I were breaking up started not long after. So when the article came out that suggested I was shagging you and leaving Ginny, I guess they seemed a little too believable for the Weasleys to ignore so easily. Ron and I got in a huge row and I left.

“I was staying at Grimmauld Place when your mother showed up.”

“My _mother_?” Draco whispered disbelievingly as Potter nodded seriously. “What the fuck did my mother have to talk to _you_ about?”

The smile that Potter flashed was tinged with bitterness. “Apparently, she also believed that the article had some merit, and that we were shagging, even though I told her otherwise–”

“I’d told her as well.”

Potter shrugged. “Well, clearly, she didn’t trust that either of us was telling her the truth. So she warned me that if I wasn’t ready to stand by you through all of the mess and the chaos of the public’s attention, I should leave.”

Draco swallowed, that slow-burning anger beginning to boil in his gut. “So you left. You fucking _abandoned_ me to the onslaught of all of that hate, Potter?”

Potter frowned, propping himself up on his elbows to look down at Draco. “Draco, I’d broken up with the girl I’d thought was the love of my life a few _days_ earlier; I’d watched dozens of my friends be _murdered_ a few months before; you’re asking if I was ready to deal with all of the drama that would start if people thought I was queer – let alone shagging _you_?”

Draco sneered, hurt stabbing through his chest like a serrated shard of glass. “ _Fuck you_ ,” he spat, throwing his legs off the side of the bed. A hand snared his wrist tightly, pulling him backwards.

“Draco, wait – I didn’t mean it like that!” Potter pleaded, his earnest tone causing Draco to turn his head and stare into that heartfelt gaze. “I just – just couldn’t handle it then, okay?”

Taking a deep breath, Draco reined in his emotions. He sat back more firmly on the bed, observing Potter. “So you left,” Draco repeated.

He could see Potter’s Adam’s apple bob. “Yeah,” Potter continued. “I left. The Ministry had been hounding me for weeks to help them with a project for the Department of Mysteries, so I finally agreed.”

“The Department of Mysteries?”

Potter nodded. “Yeah. I travelled to Albania to help a team of experts destroy Voldemort’s –” Draco couldn’t help but flinch. “– body. It’d been infused with so much Dark magic that it was too dangerous to deal with near dense populations, so we were out in the middle of nowhere, really.” Potter twisted his grip around Draco’s wrist, moving his hand to entwine his index finger with Draco’s; Draco’s heartbeat immediately sped up. “Draco, you have to believe that I had no idea how bad things had gotten here – we were completely cut off from any forms of communication, magical or otherwise.

“By the time I’d got to Romania and had contact with the Wizarding world again, you’d already released your statement to _The Snake Whisperer_ and there wasn’t much I could do.”

“’Wasn’t much’? Potter, _anything_ would have helped. And your sudden disappearance didn’t make matters much easier. So you just hid in Romania like a coward?” Draco hissed, pulling his fingers away from Potter’s soft touch.

Potter frowned, but didn’t refute Draco’s words. “After some time with Charlie Weasley and his boyfriend in Romania, I realized I _was_ being a coward. I knew I was…” Potter laughed contemptuously, “…fucking _scared_ of you, and what this was starting to be.” Potter gestured between the two of them, that sad twist still evident on the edges of his mouth.

Draco’s throat suddenly felt very dry as Potter leaned closer. “I’ve been through hell and back, but I was fucking _terrified_ of what would happen if I really faced you and my bloody _feelings_.” Potter grinned, yet it looked painful.

“And what feelings would those be?” Draco gasped, Potter’s lips brushing against his.

“I think you know, Draco,” Potter whispered before he kissed him, pressing Draco into the mattress as he pushed their bare chests together, skin rubbing warmly against skin.

“Fuck, _Potter_.” Sunlight flooded the room, great panes of light that caused Potter to glow above Draco. He reached up, thumbing Potter’s cheekbone before gently pulling off his glasses and setting them on the nightstand.

“Draco–” Potter moaned quietly as he moved down to lick lightly at Draco’s nipple, sending a small shock up Draco’s spine. He panted, fisting a hand in Potter’s hair, simultaneously wanting to press into the feeling of Potter’s tongue and pull away.

Potter kissed Draco’s sternum, then the soft skin above his belly button. “Fuck,” Draco exhaled as he tossed his head back, his eyes staring at the ceiling as he felt Potter unbutton his trousers, Draco lifting his hips to help Potter pull the black fabric out of the way.

“Draco,” Potter called, forcing him to raise his head and meet those burning eyes, unbarred by his glasses now. Potter’s coarse fingertips brushed the pale skin on his hipbones, branding their touch in Draco’s skin. When Potter, who never broke his iron gaze with Draco, began pulling off Draco’s pants, he suddenly, surreally, realized _Harry fucking Potter_ was about to suck his cock.

It was terrifying.

But then Potter was running the velvety heat of his tongue against his prick and none of it mattered anymore.

Draco felt as though the wind had been knocked out of his lungs as he watched Potter’s wet tongue trail up his reddened skin, feeling the mesmerising ripples of pleasure up his spine. Potter might not have been the most skilled person to have ever given him a blow-job, but he sure as hell was the most enthusiastic and determined to make Draco fall apart.

“Potter – _ah!_ ” Draco lifted his head from where it’d fallen against the pillows, reaching down to rest his palms on Potter’s temples. That wild, reckless warmth was beginning to pool in his abdomen, threating to drag him into oblivion, but Potter didn’t stop, those green eyes smirking at him as that mouth wrapped around him.

“Oh, _fuck_ …” Draco closed his eyes in pained ecstasy, pulling at Potter’s hair as that tongue pressed against the sensitive underside of his cock, pushing him just a bit closer to the edge. _Just a little more_ – Draco opened his eyes when that wet heat was suddenly gone, the cool air of the morning chilling his skin. “Potter?”

But his squawk of indignation was cut short as Potter pressed his mouth against his, slipping his tongue inside. They both groaned, sharing the salty, bitter taste of Draco’s leaking cock, the denied member now rubbing against the obvious bulge on the soft fabric of Potter’s pants.

“Potter, why did you stop?” Draco gasped against the other man’s lips, his pale hands feeling the shift in the muscles of Potter’s back as he slowly ground his hips against Draco.

Potter braced his elbows on either side of Draco’s head, boxing him in as he watched Draco, eyes glazed with arousal. “I really want to fuck you,” Potter whispered the wish like a prayer, like a sin.

Draco’s heart skipped a beat.

He braced his feet on the rumpled sheets, letting his knees knock against Potter’s hips. “Have you ever fucked a bloke before?” He asked calmly, if a bit breathlessly, as though Potter’s cloth-covered erection wasn’t rubbing temptingly against his own. Colour blossomed high on Potter’s cheeks, and he broke his gaze with Draco.

“No. I don’t have a whole lot of experience in this…area,” he heard him mutter. Draco couldn’t stifle the shock of heat that ran through his spine at the thought of being Potter’s first.

“Have you fucked a girl?” Potter met his eyes, nodding.

“Yeah. It didn’t really work out.”

“Well, I guess I’ll have to teach you how, then.”

Potter flashed that crooked smirk of his, causing Draco to lean up and taste it, wrapping his legs around Potter’s waist and pulling Potter’s arousal more fully against his own. The two men groaned into each other’s mouth, drunk on the feeling.

“So…can I?” Potter panted, mouthing at Draco’s pulse. It jumped underneath his lips.

Draco couldn’t stop the memories: Theo’s fumbling fingers, the confused, budding knowledge of two fifteen-year-olds, and the stabbing pain of that first entry – then his own attempt at topping with Geoffrey, mere weeks before his horrible sixth year had begun, and how Draco had felt such guilt when the other boy bled afterwards. He suppressed a shudder.

But this was Potter. And everything was different with Potter.

“Alright. But you better be fucking careful, Po – Harry,” Draco mumbled, holding Potter’s head to his collarbone so that he wouldn’t have to see his expression at the use of Potter’s given name, the word feeling so foreign on his tongue.

Potter’s cock twitched in the confines of his pants, making another spurt of pre-come dampen the heated skin of Draco’s abdomen. Draco finally met _Harry’s_ eyes, feeling too open in their captivated look.

“Dra–” Draco cut him off before he could say anything stupid, instead pressing his hands against Potter’s shoulders and pushing him onto his back on the mattress, so Draco could straddle his lap with an ironic smirk.

“But I’m on top,” he proclaimed quietly, holding his hand out and _accio_ -ing his small, silver jar of lube from underneath the drawer of the nightstand. Potter merely blinked at him, his aroused flush spreading down his chest as he grasped at Draco’s bony hips.

“I – I have no problem with that,” Potter’s voice broke. Draco’s unforgiving smile grew, and he flicked his wrist, Vanishing the few remaining articles of clothing. “Oi!” Potter hissed at the sudden contact between his hardened prick and Draco’s arse. Potter let his head fall back onto the mattress, exposing the long line of his throat. “I hope you can get those back – that was my favourite pair of pants.”

Draco’s smile sharpened as he leaned over to bite at the love bite he’d left on Potter’s neck the night before as he uncapped the dish, spreading the slick substance on two of his fingers before drawing them back to his exposed hole. Potter sat up a little at the loud breath Draco drew as he pressed his middle finger in. “W-What are you doing?” Potter asked uncertainly, watching over Draco’s shoulder.

“Wha- _ah!_ -t does it look like I’m doing?” Draco answered, failing to keep the sarcastic edge to his tone as he pressed another finger in alongside the first.

“Are you _fingering_ yourself?” Potter whispered in awe, answering his own question as his burning palms trailed across Draco’s sweaty back, spreading Draco’s arse as curious fingertips brushed against the reddened rim of his hole. Draco gasped as Potter gripped his hand, pulling out Draco’s fingers before pressing his own into the tight ring of muscle. The dry digits burned at first, but Draco had smeared enough lube against his arse that he could soon only feel the rough pleasure as Potter stretched him.

“Oh, fuck,” he mumbled against Potter’s neck as Potter sat up completely, causing Draco to shift even further down onto his fingers and lap.

“Y’alright?” Potter asked quietly, his soft tone contradicted by the harsh rhythm he was pressing into Draco.

“Yes – _ah!_ Right there!” Draco yelped as Potter brushed against that little bundle of nerves he only ever managed to find every now and then.

“Here?”

“Fuck! Yes!” Draco leaned away from Potter’s chest, pushing him once again onto his back. He grinned as the leaking head of Potter’s cock rubbed against his arse, and he pulled Potter’s hand away from his hole.

He grabbed the jar, which had fallen onto the blanket at some point. He spread more onto his fingers, reaching down to provokingly pump Potter’s painful-looking erection. Potter hissed, the sound delightful to Draco’s ears.

“Now sit still,” Draco mumbled as he lifted himself up onto his knees, reaching back to grab at Potter’s cock.

“Wait!” Draco paused, looking at Potter with a questioning eyebrow raised. “W-what about condoms?”

“’Condoms?’” Draco blinked at him, before it struck him. “Oh, those counterdeceptive things Muggles use.” He grinned down at Potter, at the wild look in those emerald eyes. _Fuck, you’re beautiful_. “Wizards don’t get Muggle diseases, Potter.”

And any words Potter might have had in response must have fled his mind as Draco sunk down on his cock. Draco groaned and Potter made an embarrassingly high squeak as more and more of Potter’s considerable length slipped into Draco’s constricted, hot passage.

“Holy fuck,” Potter croaked, bruising Draco’s hips with his grip. Draco merely sighed in response, feeling light-headed as his arse sat flush against the burning skin of Potter’s abdomen and thighs.

Draco’s legs quivered from effort as he lifted himself up, and he hummed softly as Potter’s cock filled him once again. “Y-you okay?” He heard Potter ask, his voice raw as Draco ground his hips, trying to hit his prostate again.

Draco opened his eyes, wondering when he’d closed them, and he leaned over Potter, mimicking their earlier position, only that Draco was boxing Potter in this time. He grinned softly, knowing he probably looked disgustingly fond. “I’m fucking brilliant,” he whispered, breathily snickering against Potter’s jaw as a jolt of pleasure made his head swim. “And how are you?” He asked politely, as though they were chatting about the Quidditch over a cuppa.

Potter suddenly reached up, grabbing a handful of Draco’s hair and tugging him backwards, so that Draco could stare into the hungry glint in Harry’s eye. “I couldn’t be better,” Potter smiled as he thrust up into Draco, causing him to arch his back in surprise. Potter grasped Draco’s arse in both hands, his thumbs almost brushing against Draco’s stretched rim as he fucked into him.

Draco’s hands curled into fists, his fingernails digging against the sheets. He caught Potter’s mouth in a searing kiss as Potter continued his brutal rhythm.

That tight feeling began to pull at Draco’s attention, and he ran the hand he wasn’t using for support down Potter’s chest until he reached his own neglected cock, which wept clear, sticky drops of pre-come against his navel. He thumbed the slit, panting into Potter’s mouth as Potter hit his prostate on a particularly harsh thrust.

“Fuck, _Harry_ ,” he whined as he squeezed his eyes shut.

“What?” Potter groaned, flicking his tongue against Draco’s chin, nibbling on it lightly.

“I’m –” Draco didn’t finish the warning, twisted his palm just the right way for that knot of squirmy heat to expand, his climax bursting through him as he cried out, come striping across his hand and onto Potter’s stomach.

“Oh, God,” Draco heard Potter curse as he collapsed against Potter’s flushed, sweaty chest, his head feeling fuzzy with aftershocks as Potter thrust into him one, two, three more times before biting down onto Draco’s neck with a groan.

Potter’s body shook as he came, and Draco could feel that warmth fill him up. He pressed light kisses onto Potter’s shoulder, neck, any skin in reach as Harry shivered beneath him.

Potter fell back onto the damp sheets, Draco lying against his chest with Potter’s softening cock still inside of him. They panted in the morning air, sunlight and the far-off sounds of wakening birds surrounding them.

“Well, that was a fine way to start the day,” Potter mumbled lazily, running a hand through Draco’s messy hair. Draco rolled his eyes, wincing slightly as he pulled away from Potter, wetness spreading between his thighs. Potter watched him wandlessly clean himself, his expression turning unreadable. “You alright?”

Draco rolled his eyes again, elbowing Potter in the stomach before resting his arms against Potter’s chest, his chin resting atop them. Potter’s mouth curved into a small grin.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’ then?”

“Yes, Potter, I’m fine. Sorry if confirming all of _The Daily Prophet’s_ rumours about us doesn’t make me as happy as it does for you.” Draco watched as Potter’s expression soured, and Potter averted his stare to look up at the ceiling.

“Really? _That’s_ what you think about after we shag for the first time?”

Draco sighed. “What were you expecting, Potter? Some declaration of love? Don’t let your Gryffindor tendencies ruin our morning.”

Potter stiffened, shifting enough so that Draco rolled off of him. He kept his back to Draco as he stood from the bed, reaching down to pull on his scattered clothes. Draco observed him silently, sitting up amongst the sheets so that they pooled around his waist.

“Where are you going?”

Potter didn’t turn around, shrugging on his shirt. “Do you really care?”

“Yes.”

Potter scoffed, still not facing Draco. “Right. Well, I’m going to go talk to McGonagall. That morning meeting she mentioned yesterday, remember?”

“Oh, fuck, you’re right,” Draco frowned, beginning to get up as well but wincing slightly when he moved his hips.

“No, don’t worry,” Potter said monotonously. “I’ll tell McGonagall you’re…ill or something. You should probably take it easy.” Draco looked up, catching Potter’s eye for a brief moment before he walked out of the bedroom, running a hand through his hair futilely.

“Potter!” Draco called after him, standing on wobbly knees and following after him, hastily pulling on some pants. “Potter, wait!”

Potter spun around, scowling. “Why? Why should I ‘wait,’ Draco? So that you can mock my fucking _feelings_ for you some more?”

Draco stumbled back, stricken. “When have I mocked your…you know?”

Potter gritted his teeth, seeming to struggle with words. He opened his mouth –

“Mister Malfoy? It’s Headmistress McGonagall. Please open the door.”

Draco froze, seeing Potter blanch across from him.

_Fuck_.

ooOoo

To be Continued…

ooOoo


	14. Lesson Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, guys! Personal life and all that jazz. I'd guess that we only have a few chapters left now.  
> (Sorry if there are more typos that usual - really wanted to publish this quickly.)

o

Lesson Fourteen

o

“Mister Malfoy?”

Draco swore viciously under his breath, reaching out a hand to catch his robes, which came flying through the door. He frantically pulled them on, sharing an unreadable look with Potter, who seemed to be considering throwing himself out the window.

“Potter, what the fuck are you waiting for? Get out of here!” Draco hissed as he took a step towards the door, smoothing his untidy hair with his free hand. Potter glared at him, throwing out his arms.

“And how the fuck am I supposed to _do_ that?” Draco sneered back, racking his brain for a solution.

“Mister Malfoy, are you quite well?” McGonagall’s voice was tinged with calm concern.

“Take the fucking Floo, you pillock!” Draco spat quietly before clearing his throat. “One moment, Headmistress. I’ll be right with you,” he called, checking to make sure that Potter stepped into the green flames swiftly. Potter stared at him intensely, pausing for just a moment before he was gone, only the crackle of ash shifting in the grate remaining.

Draco pulled open the door, praying to Salazar that he didn’t look quite as thoroughly shagged as he felt. “Ah, Headmistress McGonagall – and Miss Talkalot?” Draco blinked as the editor smiled at him from her stance next to the headmistress, who was watching Draco with narrowed eyes.

“I see you two have met previously,” McGonagall concluded aloud. Talkalot nodded, her toothy smile widening as Draco swallowed, resisting the urge to fiddle with his hair some more.

“Oh, yes. Mister Malfoy did quite an infamous interview with _The Snake Whisperer_. I’m actually a little insulted you didn’t know about it, Minerva.” Draco gaped at Talkalot, only feeling more thrown when McGonagall only raised an eyebrow in response.

“I have been rather busy here, Lucinda.” McGonagall turned back to Draco. “May we come in, Mister Malfoy? I have something I would like to discuss with you.”

Draco swallowed, hoping that Potter had managed to pick up all of his discarded clothing off of the floor. “Of course. Please,” he stepped back from the entryway, allowing the two women to pass.

Lucinda gracefully settled on the couch and McGonagall sat next to her, her eyes never leaving Draco, who conjured a stiff-backed chair to rigidly perch on. He swallowed again. “May I offer you some tea?”

McGonagall merely shook her head, and Lucinda flashed an unreadable grin before declining as well. “Actually, Mister Malfoy, I’m here to reiterate my offer of an interview. Considering Potter seems to have ignored his orders to discuss the emergency situation here at Hogwarts with Skeeter, Minerva and I believe that you could step in as an alternative.”

Draco blinked. “I see. So I would be asking the readers of the _SW_ for an expert in Fiendfyre? I’m sorry, Headmistress, but wouldn’t that be appealing to the last audience that should know the vulnerable situation that Hogwarts is in?”

McGonagall’s lips thinned into an unhappy line. “Mister Potter did have a point when he brought up his concerns yesterday, yet I believe that allowing Hogwarts to fall to the Fiendfyre is an even more hopeless option than if a few radicals foolishly decide to attack us.” She stared pointedly at Draco over her spectacles. “I do hope that you will help Editor Talkalot with her article, Mister Malfoy. It’s only prudent to remind you that no one would be allowed back to the castle if it no longer stands.”

_Ah, of course. That was how this all started, wasn’t it? My eighth year here at Hogwarts._ “Of course I’ll aid Miss Talkalot. I’m here to help, after all.”

Talkalot beamed. “Wonderful. I just need a few quotes, and I should have the piece done for this afternoon’s edition. With any hope, we could have responses by tomorrow.”

McGonagall looked grim. “I only hope Hogwarts still stands by then.” She turned her sharp gaze on Draco again. “And how is your progress with your father?”

Draco’s throat felt dry, and his fingers twitched against his robes. “I sent the letter this morning. Depending on how benevolent Lucius is feeling, he could respond today or a month from now.”

“I see. Very well. Thank you for cooperation, Mister Malfoy. I will take my leave now. If either of you shall need me, I will be in my office.” The headmistress stood with a nod in Talkalot’s direction, stepping out of Draco’s room with an air of bleak determination.

Draco turned back to Talkalot, who was watching him shrewdly. “Do you really think that you will save Hogwarts through this stunt? Do you think this desperate act will work?” She asked quietly.

Draco felt an odd jolt of panic in his stomach. “It must.”

Talkalot scrutinized him for a moment more before nodding, getting to her feet. “Well, I believe I have all that I need.”

“What? But you haven’t interviewed me yet.”

“You’ve told me more than enough for my article, Mister Malfoy. I’ll let myself out.”

Draco nodded, his thoughts feeling unwieldy and slow as Talkalot left him. As the door shut behind the editor, he propped his elbow on his knee, resting his shaking palm over his eyes.

_Fuck, what a mess._

ooOoo

Even with daylight streaming through the windows, the castle still seemed to be blanketed with darkness. That disturbing silence permeated through the air, settling like dust.

Draco made his way through the halls, walking unconsciously with no real destination in mind. The letter crinkled in his fist as his fingers contracted more tightly around the parchment. The words were seared on his eyelids, haunting him.

_Though I find it repugnant that you dare contact me, I will deign to give you the information you wish. There is no known counter-curse for Fiendfyre, only ways to contain it. Most of the texts regarding wholly Dark magic have been destroyed, thanks to your precious Potter and his faithful Ministry, or they are furtively hidden._

_L. Malfoy_

Draco turned around a corner, finding himself in the hallway leading to the library. _That fucking_ bastard, Draco seethed as he continued through the corridor. _I know that he knows how to put a stop to this – he just won’t give it to_ me _._

Pain burned through his chest, as though he’d scrapped an aching bruise. _Maybe Mother– no, Lucius would be sure to be watching for my communications with her now. Perhaps if Blaise or Pansy – but, no, Lucius wouldn’t trust their loyalty to him over me._ Draco watched his feet, his thoughts screeching in his skull. _But if he_ is _right, and there is no known counter-curse, is the interview with Talkalot really a good idea? What if Potter is correct, and we merely bring attention to Hogwarts’ compromised state?_

“Fuck!” Draco vehemently muttered under his breath, caught in the futility of it all.

“Being alone is hardly an excuse to be so unsightly,” a snide voice jeered from next to him.

Draco jumped, snapping his neck up to stare into the dark, calculating eyes of Severus Snape. Or, at least, the portrait of Snape.

“Professor?” Draco breathed, hardly believing his eyes. “What are you doing down here?”

Snape raised an eyebrow, sneering at the floral surroundings of the painting he was interloping in. “It was quite apparent that you, Potter, and your team of idiots were hardly making any progress with restoring the castle, so I surmised that it would be sensible to contact you.”

Draco straightened his back, schooling his features into the expressionless mask he’d partially learned from the man in front of him. “Are you suggesting that you know how to quench the Fiendfyre? And if that is the case, why have you withheld this information until now?”

Snape narrowed his eyes, strings of his greasy hair sticking to his sallow skin. “I am merely offering some advice, Draco. _I_ do not know the counter-curse to the Fiendfyre, but I do not believe that no one in this castle does.”

“But why would one of the volunteers be keeping that to themselves?”

Snape rolled his eyes, unimpressed with Draco’s question. “None of those self-important morons hold your answer, Draco. Do try and think intelligently about this.”

Draco glared at his dead professor, wrinkling the letter in his hand even more as he clenched his fists. “If _you_ know the answer to your silly riddle, _Severus_ , I’d prefer that you not waste any more of my time. There are matters more important than your egotism.”

Snape scoffed at him, folding his arms across his chest. “I see Potter’s impatience and thoughtlessness has spread to you. I expected more, Draco. One should not get so distracted by lust.” Draco took a shocked step back, feeling the blood drain from his cheeks.

“How could you –?” Snape smiled nastily.

“Portraits talk, Draco.”

Draco swallowed around the lump in his throat, feeling unstable. He took another step back, then turned and walked away, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder at the cold look he knew would be waiting for him.

_Portraits talk, Draco._

_Portraits talk…_

_Portraits…_

Draco’s feet froze, and he stared into space, looking at nothing. “That’s it,” he muttered aloud, awestruck. “The fucking _portraits_.”

o

“Headmistress! I have an –” Draco flung open the door to McGonagall’s office, stopping in his tracks when Potter, Granger, and Weasley stared back at him from their position around a Pensieve.

“Draco?” Potter and Granger said simultaneously. Weasley glanced at them oddly.

“I need to see the headmistress.”

“Why?” Potter asked coldly, causing Granger to frown at Potter momentarily.

Draco sneered at him, trying to erase the feeling of Potter’s lips, his fingers, his– “I don’t believe I have to tell you anything, Potter.”

“Draco? Do you have some new idea for how to stop the Fiendfyre?” Granger asked tentatively, moving around the Pensieve to step closer to Draco.

Draco took a sharp breath, nodding. “Yes. Snape’s portrait gave me an idea.”

“Snape?” Potter and Weasley exclaimed, their expression souring.

“Yes, Severus and I had a rather revealing discussion. I think that we need to find a portrait in this castle that would still know the counter-curse for Fiendfyre.”

“ _Still_ know it?” Granger asked.

Draco winced slightly, attempting to straighten the ruined letter in his grasp. “Lucius responded to my letter. Apparently he doesn’t have the counter-curse, and believes that most of the texts that would hold it would have been destroyed by the Ministry’s anti-Dark magic initiative.”

“But you think that one of the portraits here in the castle would still remember it?” Granger concluded.

“Yes. We just need to find the right one. Particularly before it is erased in the drain of Hogwarts’ magic. We can only hope it hasn’t been drained already.”

“But there must be thousands of paintings in the castle,” Weasley piped up. “How would we find it?”

Draco frowned. “There aren’t many portraits of Dark wizards or witches in Hogwarts, unsurprisingly. Most of them are found in the dungeons.”

“But the dungeons flooded weeks ago. Most of the paintings were damaged,” Granger pointed out, scrunching her eyebrows in thought. “I believe the headmistress moved all of the salvaged paintings to the library. They should be stacked somewhere in the back for safe-keeping.”

Draco nodded, already turning to go. “Good. There’s no time to waste, then.”

“Draco, wait,” Potter called as a wrist tightened around Draco’s wrist, halting him in his steps. Draco glared at him over his shoulder, wishing whatever confrontation was brewing between them wasn’t going to be played out in front of Granger and Weasley. “Don’t you think you’re being a little rash? We don’t know if the library is even safe. Nobody’s been in there for days.”

“We don’t have time to wait, Potter. We have hours, maybe a day, before Hogwarts starts crumbling around our ears. I only assumed that you _didn’t_ want that to happen.”

Potter frowned, releasing Draco’s arm. “Of course I don’t – but that doesn’t mean I want to compromise your safety either!”

“Oi, Harry, let him go if he wants to. I’m sure Malfoy can be responsible for saving his own damned hide.” Weasley was watching Potter with a calculating stare, while Granger stood silently at his side, her lips pursed disapprovingly.

Potter’s stern expression faltered, a brief flash of anxiety, guilt, and sorrow dashing across his features before he gained control of himself once again. He took a step back from Draco, avoiding his gaze. “You’re right. Fine, do what you want, Malfoy.” He looked up suddenly, his eyes blazing with determination. “But I’m coming with you.”

Draco tuned out Weasley’s indignant squawk and Granger’s worried prattling, focusing only on Potter’s steely expression. “Fine. Come along if you wish, Potter.” Draco took a step forward, nearly pressing himself along Potter’s chest. “But don’t distract me,” he whispered, flashing a sharp grin at the way Potter’s fingers twitched against his hips before pulling himself away.

“Er…?” Weasley asked wordlessly, causing Potter to jolt out of his stupor, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. Draco’s grin widened, the confidence that came with getting under Potter’s skin settling his nerves.

“Well?” Draco raised an eyebrow. “Shall we?”

o

Potter stepped in front of Draco, making sure he was first in opening the door to the library. Draco rolled his eyes. _Typical, really. Potter’s martyr complex seems to grow daily._

Weasley and Granger stood behind Draco, muttering about something between themselves as the entrance creaked with resistance. The silence seemed to spill into the hallway as dust billowed from the crevice, smothering the quiet noises from their surroundings.

Potter glanced back at Draco for a moment; Draco met his eyes evenly, wishing, for just an instance, that he knew what Potter was thinking. But then the moment gone and Draco was following Potter into the dark mustiness of the abandoned library, Granger and Weasley stepping after him, lighting their wands so that flickering shadows danced between the stacks of books.

That same eerie silence permeated the air, chilling Draco to the bone. Potter stopped, his shoulders tensing. “Can you feel it too?” Draco muttered, his words piercing the quiet.

“Yes,” Potter murmured, turning to stare at Draco, clearly disturbed. “What is that?”

“I don’t know.”

“What are you talking about? The library seems fine,” Weasley frowned at them, Granger looking unsettled.

Potter turned to Weasley. “You guys can’t feel that? It’s too… _still_ in here.”

“It’s a library, mate. It supposed to be quiet. Right, Hermione?”

Granger opened her mouth, then seemed to change her mind, shaking her head slightly. “I don’t feel anything wrong, but I don’t think that Harry and Draco are making this up. Didn’t you ask me about this before, Draco? You said that the library felt off, didn’t you?”

Draco nodded, the hairs on the back of his neck seeming to stand on end. “Yes, I felt this the last time I came in here as well.” He glanced at Potter. “But I don’t know why only Potter and I can feel it.”

“Well, aren’t you and Harry the only wandless experts here?” Draco, Potter and Granger turned to Weasley, who shrugged under the attention. “It’s the only thing I can think that is the same between you.”

“That’s right,” Granger nodded. “Maybe your wandless abilities make you two more sensitive to the fluctuations in Hogwarts’ magic.”

“But why do we sense it here?” Potter asked warily, running his eyes over their surroundings. The silence bore down on them once again, leering at them.

“I don’t know why, but I suggest that we find the portraits and get out of here,” Draco finally concluded. He turned, looking out into the darkness, the looming bookshelves rising around them. “We should split up. We’ll cover more ground and be out of here more quickly.”

“I disagree. Splitting up is the last thing we should do in a potentially-dangerous environment,” Potter disagreed, sounding certain.

Draco gritted his teeth. “Well, how about pairs?” Granger interjected before he could retort. “There should be some measure of safety in that.”

“Fine,” Draco sneered. “I can only surmise that you will go with Weasley and I’ll be stuck with Potter?” Granger raised an eyebrow, but nodded.

“I think that’s for the best,” she said, her eyes flashing knowingly. She grabbed Weasley’s wrist. “We’ll start this way and head farther back. If we need each other, send red sparks up. If we just want to check if you are okay, we’ll send up green and wait five minutes for a response before coming to search for you,” Granger ordered simply before heading off, Weasley in tow.

Draco watched them go, the points of light on their wands fading as they rounded too many corners to follow any longer. Draco raised his hand, conjuring a small, harmless flame that filled the space around him with its pale glow.

“Draco, we –”

“We should stop dawdling,” Draco cut Potter off, starting down one of the corridors formed by the infinite shelves. He heard Potter’s footsteps fall behind him, and could feel Potter’s gaze on the back of his head.

The rows of books blurred together as they took a left, a right, left, left, right, back, left, right, for long enough that Draco lost count. The air around them turned musty with disuse, ancient tomes with foreign names surrounding them.

“You know, I don’t think Ron or Hermione have signalled us in a while,” Potter pointed out, keeping his voice hushed unconsciously. Draco stopped, beginning to really notice the ache of his joints. How long had they been walking amongst the shelves?

“Signal if you wish. I doubt that there’s anything besides books and dust in here,” Draco faked his unconcerned attitude, raising his light to note the titles around them more closely.

Draco could see Potter shoot up the green sparks with his hand, the pricks of light fading into the darkness high above them. Draco was running his fingers over the beautifully delicate script on the spine of a leather-bound tome when felt Potter step closer behind him, close enough that Draco could feel the heat of his body against his back.

Draco stiffened, tension and an aggravating jolt of arousal singing through his limbs when Potter brushed his fingers against his waist, the warmth of his hands bleeding through the thin fabric of Draco’s robes. “What are you doing, Potter?” Draco bit out, keeping his back turned.

Potter pressed his fingertips a little more firmly into his skin. “We left things rather open-ended this morning,” he whispered.

“Do you really need clarification on what happened, Potter? It was a shag. That’s it,” Draco hissed, his vision of the books in front of him blurring slightly when Potter’s fingers ran up the side of his torso lightly.

“I don’t think that’s true.”

Draco gritted his teeth as Potter’s fingers strayed close to his nipples. Why wasn’t he stopping this, exactly? “Fine, do you want to go over _exactly_ what happened?” Potter hummed in agreement. “We fucked and then you accused me of mocking your apparent feelings for me right before McGonagall showed up, which ruined our morning afterglow rather thoroughly. So, none of that was open-ended, _Potter_ ,” Draco voice broke as Potter leaned in, kissing the thin skin on the back of his neck.

“We never established if we’d do it again,” Potter murmured against the collar of his robes, his hands now resting over Draco’s quivering stomach muscles. Adrenaline and lust burned through Draco’s blood, and the hand that wasn’t holding his light was clenched on one of the shelves, his knuckles white with strain.

“This is not the time to be discussing this. Though it doesn’t surprise me that possible danger makes the Chosen One horny,” Draco gasped angrily. Potter seemed to ignore that, choosing instead to push Draco’s robes out of the way and reach for his flies.

“ _Potter_ –”

“Can I?” Potter breathed, his voice low and heated against Draco’s ear. Draco tipped his head back, giving into the desire that twisted around his senses as he tilted his head to meet Potter’s lips in a sloppy kiss.

Draco extinguished the flame in his palm, using that hand to reach back and tug at Potter’s hair, pressing back against him more firmly. Potter’s erection was a warm pressure against his hip, and Potter’s hand slipped into his pants.

Draco couldn’t hold in the gasp that escaped him as Potter began to jerk him off, rough and on the edge of too fast. Draco ground against Potter’s erection, loving Potter’s groan, which was smothered quickly by the silence and darkness.

Their tongues curled together, causing slick noises that sent jolts of heat through Draco’s body. Potter’s thumb rubbed along the head of his cock, grazing the sensitive skin with his nail. Draco shuddered, his orgasm shocking him with its speed. “Ah, _fuck!_ ” He moaned brokenly against Potter’s jaw, Potter’s hand protecting the ancient texts in front of them from being covered in come.

Ears still ringing, Draco pulled at Potter’s hand, drawing the come-covered fingers to his mouth. He licked them delicately, feeling Potter’s cock jerk against his arse. “Holy fuck, Draco,” Potter moaned as Draco continued to suck on his fingers, tasting his own bitter come and the salty warmth of Potter’s skin.

Satisfied with the state of Potter’s hand, Draco finally turned around, meeting Potter’s achingly aroused look with his own. Keeping eye contact, Draco sank to his knees, his fingers reaching up to yank on Potter’s zipper. Potter moaned, leaning forwards to prop a hand on the bookshelf as the other ran fingers through Draco’s fine hair. Draco pulled out Potter’s flushed cock, which was leaking profusely at the tip.

Draco licked at the salty wetness, closing his eyes as he simply took in all of Potter. Potter’s moans in his ears, Potter’s fingers in his hair, Potter’s hot cock in his mouth. _Potter_.

It could have been seconds or hours later when Potter jerked his hips, groaning breathlessly as he spurted in Draco’s mouth. Draco allowed the warmth to coat his tongue before he swallowed, taking in the most private taste of Potter.

Potter was shaking when he pulled away from Draco, zipping his trousers before he fell to his knees as well, pulling Draco into a lazy kiss. “You are so fucking perfect,” Potter groaned as Draco slung his arms around Potter’s shoulders.

Potter was sucking on his collarbone when Draco looked up at the ceiling of the library and saw red sparks shimmering in the air. “Oh, shit,” he cursed, pulling away from Potter, who looked confused for only a moment before seeing the sparks as well.

Potter scrambled to his feet, offering a hand to Draco as well as his expression flickered with fear, guilt, and shame. “Fuck! We have to get to Ron and Hermione,” he urged, beginning to jog down the row of shelves. Draco followed, reaching out to grasp onto the hem of Potter’s shirt before –

He was falling, air rushing past his ears as blackness rushed by, in, through him. He opened his mouth to scream, but gravity stole that as well, pulling him into that dark infinity –

_THUMP!_

Draco yelled in agony as his right side slammed into something, and his senses seared with light and noise and pain. “Oh, fuck,” he moaned as his elbow screamed with injury. He tentatively opened his eyes, needing to blink a few times before the torchlight around him turned tolerable.

He was in some room in Hogwarts, it looked like – torchlight and stone and ancient history entombed in the walls and floors. And it seemed empty, except for –

“Potter!” Draco limped to his feet, cradling his likely-broken arm as he shuffled to the fallen figure on the floor. Draco rolled Potter over, fear squeezing around his heart at the blood that trickled from Potter’s nose, and the bruises that were rising across the exposed skin of his face and arm.

“Fuck, Potter. Wake up. Please, wake up,” Draco muttered, reluctant to use wandless magic with his non-dominant hand.

Relief flooded through Draco’s chest when Potter’s eyelids fluttered behind his shattered glasses. “D-Draco?” He coughed, blood drying around his mouth. “What the fuck happened? Where are we?”

Draco sat back, taking in the windowless room, no entrance in sight, and felt fear continue to pool in his stomach.

“I have no idea.”

ooOoo

To be Continued…

ooOoo


	15. Lesson Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lateness - life's insane. Anyways, only one more chapter now, I think.  
> (I apologize if the action is unsatisfying - I have very little experience with plot.)

o

Lesson Fifteen

o

Potter wheezed in pain as he sat up, resting a hand gingerly on his side, where Draco guessed he’d broken a rib. Potter winced, almost immediately falling onto his back once again. “Fuck,” he panted as he reached up a hand to remove his broken glasses. Draco huffed a laugh, regretting it deeply when the movement jostled his arm the slightest bit.

“Exactly. I’d offer to heal you wandlessly, but I seem to have broken my arm. There’s very little research on the effects of magic with one’s non-dominant hand, so…” Draco trailed off, tenderly touching his elbow, which was already swelling at an alarming rate.

“Oh, shit, your arm?” Potter lifted his head, his glazed, sightless eyes narrowing as he tried to look at Draco more clearly. Draco reached over, grabbing Potter’s broken glasses out of his bloody fingers, cradling them in his palm. He closed his eyes and concentrated, attempting to channel his magic to his left hand, willing the glass to reform and mend. But –

Draco froze, opening his eyes. He stared at the spectacles. Yes, just as he’d thought. “Potter, try to do some magic.”

“Huh?”

“Just do a spell. Any spell.”

Potter frowned, but lifted his right hand. Draco waited a moment, but nothing happened. Potter’s frown intensified and he stared at his fingers in confusion. “What the hell?”

An icy drop of fear slithered down Draco’s spine at the confirmation of the lack of magic between the two of them. “I can’t do anything either. It seems our wandless abilities are gone, at least temporarily.”

Potter _thunk_ -ed his skull against the stone floor. “Of fucking course. Because this couldn’t ever be _simple_ for once.”

Draco raised an eyebrow at Potter’s dry tone as he settled against the wall, trying to focus on anything other than the throbbing pain of his elbow and the rolling nausea in his gut. He continued to tinker with Potter’s glasses in his grip as uneasy silence settled between them.

“So where do you think we are?” Potter finally asked quietly, his voice sounding infinitely calmer than Draco felt.

“It looks like another secret room in Hogwarts. Surely the Room of Requirement isn’t Hogwarts’ only secret.” Draco closed his eyes as a particularly intense wave of pain hit him. “Perhaps,” he bit out through gritted teeth, “Hogwarts knows that the Room of Requirement is no longer usable and has created a substitute.”

“Where are the exits, then? If this was another Room, it should be following our wishes, shouldn’t it?”

Draco felt cold sweat continue to slip down the side of his face. “It was merely a theory, Potter.” There was the rustling of clothing, and Draco jumped when warm fingers pressed against his cheek. Potter was staring at him, caressing his cheek with the hand not pressed against his ribs.

“We’ll get out of this somehow,” Potter promised. Draco desperately wished he could believe Potter’s words... But he didn’t.

“Don’t instil false hope in me, Potter. We don’t know where we are, why we are here, or how to get out. Oh, and we’re injured without any magic. So keep your optimism to yourself.” Potter’s mouth twitched up at the edges and Draco thought he was going to kiss him for a short moment, but Potter pulled back, settling next to him on the wall.

Draco looked around them, taking in the four windowless walls. The room wasn’t too small, but wasn’t enormous either. Torches flickered, illuminating every nook of the empty cell. _Because it_ must _be a cell of some kind_ , Draco thought emotionlessly. _Some way for Hogwarts – or someone – to keep us out of the way. But how could our magic be gone? There’s no known way to sap the magical energy out of a person…_

_But hasn’t Hogwarts always been the exception to everything? And if it can take the magic from portraits, who’s to say it can’t take from its inhabitants?_

“I can practically hear you thinking. You have that same expression Hermione gets when she’s figured something out.” Draco turned to Potter, who was watching him – his eyes still slightly narrowed with effort.

“I think Hogwarts is stealing our magic somehow.” Potter frowned again, looking off into the room.

“Why us? Because of our wandless abilities?”

“Our wandless ability was indicative of our more powerful magical cores. I suppose Hogwarts sees us as a source of raw energy.”

“Well, fuck. That doesn’t sound like it’ll end well for us.”

Draco smiled humourlessly. “No, it doesn’t. Either we’ll end up like Squibs, or we might die. Magic is a part of our beings, after all.”

Potter hit the back of his skull against the wall. “Shit. I honestly never imagined I’d die at the hands of a castle. Voldemort, sure. Some neo-Death Eater, possibly. Illness or starvation, maybe. Scorned lover, perhaps. Ancient building draining my magic, no.”

Draco couldn’t help the sob-like laugh that was torn from his throat. “Yes, how sad. Our Saviour perishes in such an uninteresting manner. What a travesty.” He closed his eyes again, feeling the urge to cry or laugh maniacally surge through him. After everything that had happened and he was going to waste away in this hidden room, dragging Harry Potter down with him.

“Potter, I feel like I should apologize. If we do somehow make it out of this, I’ll claim this was hysteria, you understand?” He could sense Potter’s dark amusement in the air, and took a deep breath, taking solace in the darkness behind his eyelids.

_If this is the end…_

“I’m sorry for all of the shit I did to you in school – even if a lot of it was justified. I’m sorry for being on the wrong side of the war. I’m sorry for my fucking father. I’m sorry for being a fucking prat during all of those lessons. I’m sorry for blaming you for everything that happened after that article.” The words seemed to pour out of Draco’s mouth, unbidden. “I’m sorry for not knowing how to deal with our shagging.” Draco choked out a broken laugh. “And I’m so fucking sorry that you are going to have to die here, with me.” Draco’s voice broke, and he swallowed back the lump in his throat.

“Again – if we live, I will deny that any of this was ever said.”

It was silent.

_Fuck. Now we’re going to die trapped in this fucking box, unable to even look at each other. Bloody fantastic._

“Draco.”

Something in Potter’s tone made Draco open his eyes. “Wha-mmph!” Potter pressed his mouth to Draco’s, catching the noise of confusion that arose. Draco blinked, surprised for only a moment before he was kissing back, wishing that he could melt more fully against Potter. But then his elbow brushed Potter’s shirt and he gasped with agony.

“Oh, fuck. Your arm,” Potter muttered against Draco’s lips. He began to pull away, but Draco gripped the back of his neck.

“It’s f-fine. Just–” Draco leaned into Potter once more, desperation clawing through his bones. “Potter – _Harry_ ,” Draco panted, “I l–”

“Well, this is touching, but we have more pressing matters to attend to, children.”

Draco froze, feeling Potter do the same. Draco stared at the sudden dark shape propped up against the opposite wall. It was a –

“Huh?” Potter replied eloquently, breaking the stunned silence as he staggered to his feet, still clutching his side. He hesitantly stepped in the direction of the mysterious painting, Draco rising to stand on unsteady legs behind him.

“Harry Potter. It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. I’ve heard some rather exciting tales about you,” the female voice continued. Draco watched Potter step ever closer. _Wait, Potter can’t even see who’s in the painting_ , Draco realised. He mustered his strength, nearing the portrait as well.

Draco narrowed his eyes at the striking woman in the painting – her sapphire eyes shone against her white skin, her inky hair falling over her shoulders. She stared back at Draco, her gaze sharp with intelligence. “And Draco Malfoy, of course. A pawn I hadn’t originally planned for.”

Draco frowned, stepping alongside Potter so that he could help support Potter with his uninjured arm. “And who are you?” Draco asked guardedly, hissing in pain as his swollen elbow flared up again.

The woman smiled, flashing a toothy smile that made Draco think of panthers on the prowl. “I am Rowena Ravenclaw, the architect of Hogwarts and one of its founding members.”

Draco gaped, noting Potter’s similarly shocked state. “And I assume you are the one who trapped us in here?”

Rowena’s grin grew eerily. “Why, yes, that was my fault. I do apologize for your injuries – that was not intentional.”

“What have you done to our magic?” Potter demanded, his voice as cold and hard as iron.

“It is merely stifled at the moment, Harry Potter. I couldn’t have you attempting to communicate with anyone. But do not worry, you will retain all of your abilities when you leave this place.”

“Why are you keeping us in here?” Rowena’s sharp gaze flicked to Draco.

“Finally, asking the relevant questions, Draco. You see, this room is a last resort for Hogwarts.”

“What?” Potter asked, confused.

“When I designed Hogwarts, I created fail-safes that would only ever awaken if the castle was threatened significantly. This room, the resting place for my portrait, is one of those fail-safes.” Rowena’s grin dropped. “Hogwarts is very close to falling, and I am here to offer my wide range of knowledge. I understand that you require the counter-curse for Fiendfyre.”

Draco nodded. “Yes. It’s eating away at Hogwarts’ core, we think. If we could stop it, Hogwarts could focus its magic on its infrastructure and repairs.” Rowena sat back on the regal chair she was painted on.

“I see. And if I could provide you with the knowledge you seek, would you know how to utilize it?”

Draco shared a glance with Potter. “We might not have gotten that far in our planning.”

Rowena smiled icily. “I suggest you think of it now, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter. Otherwise my secrets will remain hidden and Hogwarts will fall.”

Draco turned to Potter, swallowing the panic rising in his throat. “Potter, do you know of a way into the Room of Requirement?”

Potter blinked in thought. “Well, the Vanishing Cabinets are obviously out of the question, since I can only assume it’s been burnt to a crisp in the fire…” Potter’s face suddenly cleared. “During the final battle, we got into Hogwarts through the passage Neville had created into the Hog’s Head. Neville’s grandmother sealed it, but it might still work.”

Draco glanced at Rowena out of the corner of his eye. She was watching Potter closely, appraising him. “Very good, Harry Potter,” she said softly. Suddenly, a _crash!_ sounded behind them, making Draco jump. He turned just as the opposite wall crumbled completely, revealing a sunlit room.

“What the fuck?” Potter muttered.

“Welcome to my library, children. You should find the counter-curse in the books on the shelf to the left.”

Potter took a hobbling step forward, looking intrigued as he entered the elegant space, but Draco hung back. “What is this place?” Draco asked Rowena, gesturing at the new room.

She raised an eyebrow. “Did you really think that Salazar was the only one with a personal chamber here in Hogwarts? No one knows more of Hogwarts’ secrets than I, Draco Malfoy.”

She flashed that dangerous grin, making Draco shiver just the slightest bit. “You’ll find an exit in there,” Rowena continued. “Good luck, Draco. I do hope you survive.” Draco nodded, turning away on that ominous note. He followed Potter into Rowena’s secret office, noting the ancient texts that filled the shelves to bursting.

He looked over his shoulder once, but the portrait was gone. He swallowed, turning to focus on finding the counter-curse.

“Draco, here! I found it,” Potter called. He brandished the scroll in the air, flinching when he moved his side too energetically. Draco approached him, looking at the swirling cursive on the page. “It say right here – ‘ _Exscindo Omnino_ ,’ paired with the movement indicated should stop the Fiendfyre.” Potter shared an excited, determined look with Draco. “We can finally finish all of this.”

Draco frowned. “But we still have to enter the Room of Requirement, and not die in the process.” He looked around the beautiful office. “And we have to find a way back to the others. Rowena said that there was an exit in here someplace.”

Potter’s triumphant smile faded, and he nodded sombrely. “You’re right. And we need to find Ron and Hermione – they had sent up red sparks right before we were trapped here.”

“Well, come on, then, Potter. Let’s get out of here,” Draco ordered as he spotted a door on one of the walls. “There isn’t any time to waste.”

o

The hidden door opened onto one of the back rows of the library – almost right where Draco thought he and Potter had fallen into Rowena’s cell. Potter immediately sent up red sparks, healing his side and fixing his glasses as an afterthought.

Draco touched his elbow, relief singing through his veins as he felt his magic cover his injury like a blanket, sucking the pain away. “Fuck,” he heard Potter curse angrily as no reply shone in the darkness of the ceiling.

But then – there!

Green sparks glimmered into existence, followed quickly by shouts of “Harry!” by Weasley and Granger, who came running down the aisle of bookshelves. Granger threw herself on Potter, wrapping him up in a tight hug as Ron clapped his shoulder. But Draco was barely paying attention, his eyes drawn to the three figures that followed behind Granger and Ron.

“Theo? Blaise? Pansy? What are you doing here?” Draco asked incredulously. Pansy rolled her eyes as Blaise shrugged and Theo smiled slightly.

“We were looking for you and happened to run into the Weasel and Granger here. They panicked at sent up that signal earlier. And then you and Potter seemed to disappear off the face of the planet for an hour. Shagging, I presume?” Pansy summarized blithely.

Draco gaped at her, as did Weasley. Granger, Theo and Blaise simply smiled bemusedly, while Potter flushed. “Not exactly, Pans,” Draco finally bit out. “We don’t have time to go over exactly what happened, but Potter and I found the counter-curse to the Fiendfyre and need to get access to the Room of Requirement as quickly as possible.”

The group sobered instantly.

“Draco and I were thinking that we should try the old passageway in the Hog’s Head. I should still be there,” Potter said authoritatively. Weasley and Granger nodded.

“Very well, we should leave immediately, then,” Blaise drawled. Draco looked at him, his surprise only growing as Pansy and Theo nodded in agreement.

“You can’t think that you lot are coming,” Weasley frowned, crossing his arms.

“What, you think that just because we’re Slytherins we wouldn’t care about whether Hogwarts is destroyed forever?” Pansy sneered. “Sorry to disappoint, Weasel, but if Draco can join the Golden Trio in their quest to save the world, so can we.”

“But –”

“Ron, now’s not really the time to be arguing about this,” Potter interjected. He turned to Pansy. “Of course we won’t turn you away if you truly want to help. So, like you said,” he said Blaise, “we better get going. To the Hog’s Head, then.”

o

The trek into Hogsmeade Village was achingly pleasant, the dying sunlight causing the summer flora to glisten and shimmer. Draco felt stiff, detached from his body in a way, as carefree townsfolk frolicked and laughed around them. They slipped through alleyways, taking the most obscure route to the grungy pub on the outskirts of town so as to avoid the attention that swarmed Potter wherever he went. Draco could have sworn he saw the flash of Rita Skeeter’s toxic-coloured robes on the corner of his vision as they passed behind The Three Broomsticks, and, sure enough, her icy whine pierced through the warm air.

“-that little brat. Doesn’t understand good journalism. Should take this to trial – cursing us all like that,” she was muttering to herself as she puffed on a cigarette. Theo raised an amused eyebrow at Draco as they stepped through the shadows, while Pansy and Granger scoffed with annoyance behind them. Potter seemed to remain unaffected, but Draco could’ve sworn he saw his mouth twitch up at the edges.

The Hog’s Head loomed out of the dust and weeds, and Potter held up a hand, stopping the group while they remained hidden in the darkness of the alleyway. “We need to have some sort of plan on how to distract Aberforth while we go upstairs.”

“Why can’t we just tell him the truth?” Granger asked pointedly.

“What, that we need to use the secret passageway behind his dead sister’s portrait so that we can stop Hogwarts from burning from the inside out because of some cursed fire that might spill into Hogsmeade? Yeah, why wouldn’t we tell him that?” Weasley said dryly.

Draco blinked, barely following the conversation. Theo, Blaise, and Pansy seemed similarly lost. “Fine, a distraction,” Granger conceded, distinctly unhappy.

“Just leave that to me.” Pansy grinned seductively, reaching a hand inside her robes and pulling out her wand. “Wait here for a few minutes, then head upstairs.” Potter nodded, turning to the rest of them.

“Good. So, everyone needs to Disillusion themselves. We’ll head up to the passage while Parkinson distracts Aberforth.” Draco raised his hand, feeling that unsettling wetness trickle down his body. When he looked down, he was a fuzzy outline. Everyone else was in a similarly camouflaged state.

“On your cue, Parkinson,” Potter’s voice said from next to Draco.

With one last disconcerting smirk, Pansy stepped out of the alleyways and opened the thick, creaky door to the pub. Draco held his breath as she disappeared from view, mentally counting the seconds as they passed.

_BANG!_

Draco startled, feeling vibrations under his feet. The Hog’s Head seemed to rattle on its foundation, and mouldy wood and rusty nails creaked angrily. _Well, I suppose that’s the distraction_ , Draco thought, turning to see Potter’s blurry body beginning to move forward. Draco followed behind him, trying not to cough as smoke filled his vision, and violent _crack!_ s and wheezing could be heard from the cloud of grey ash and dust.

He could feel Theo’s presence behind him, and assumed that Blaise, Weasley and Granger were trailing him and Potter as well.

“Oh, I’m _so_ sorry! I don’t know what possessed me to do that!” Draco could hear Pansy’s exaggerated simpering through the din, and felt an amused smirk creep across his lips.

_Stairs, where are the bloody stairs?_

But then he could make out a dim step in the vagueness and began to climb, following Potter and allowing the smoky chaos to become muffled beneath him. The air was clean in the small room he found himself in; the empty fireplace gapped, and the table was cleared of everything but a half-finished tumbler of scotch.

And then he saw it – the portrait.

The young girl watched them with vacant eyes, apparently able to see them even through their charms. She was pretty, in an innocent sort of way, as though her naivety and agelessness had been made into physical traits.

Draco watched Potter cast off his spell and tentatively step forward, returning the girl's pleasant smile. “Hello,” Potter whispered. She tilted her head in curiosity, still smiling. “You’re Ariana, right? I’m Harry Potter, and I’ve been here before.”

The girl’s smile widened, and she nodded vigorously. Draco removed his charm as well, noting that Blaise, Theo, Granger and Weasley did that same around him.

_CRASH!_

Draco jumped, turning his head to the top of the stairs, remembering that they were on a very limited schedule. He looked back at Ariana, who was frowning in puzzlement at Potter.

“Ariana, do you know of a passageway into Hogwarts?” She hesitated, and Draco’s heart was caught in his throat. _No, it can’t be over now._

But then she nodded slowly. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief and noticed that Potter seemed to release some of the tension in his shoulders.

“Could you show it to me? We really need to get in there.” She pouted questioningly at Potter.

“The school’s in trouble, you see. It’s going to be destroyed if I don’t stop it – and I can’t let that happen. Too many people care about that castle for it to be decimated like that,” Potter breathed, staring at the brickwork of the hearth.

A moment of silence passed, and Potter seemed to shake himself out of his stupor. Ariana was smiling at him again. “Will you let me through, please?” She nodded.

Draco held his breath as the portrait swung open, revealing a dark tunnel the seemed to stretch endlessly. “Thank you,” Potter whispered to Ariana before turning around, addressing them all. “Let’s go, then. And remember – constant vigilance.”

Potter held up a hand, wandlessly conjuring a small flame, and set off into the passageway, Draco and the others following closely behind.

o

The tunnel went on for miles, and Draco was panting by the time they came across the solid wall of magic that signalled the end.

“Augusta Longbottom’s, huh? This spell is pretty powerful,” Draco muttered distantly. He was more impressed by the fact that the Room had somehow not noticed it in its rampage for more magical energy.

“Longbottoms should not be trifled with,” Granger said seriously, stepping up besides Draco to press her fingertips against the magical barrier. Granger suddenly gasped, her eyes widening. “This is about to collapse. And who knows what will happen if the Fiendfyre escapes into the tunnel.”

“Then we should create a new shield behind us, so that the Fiendfyre won’t escape into the tunnel,” Weasley said determinedly.

“So we’re just going to trap ourselves in a burning room?” Blaise asked, his fragile tone betraying his fear.

Draco swallowed drily. “Yes.” He turned, raising his hand at the dark shadows behind them. “ _Protego Horribilis!_ ” A green wall of energy shone in the darkness for just a moment before fading into invisibility. “Considering Fiendfyre is Cursed, Dark magic, that should at least hold it at bay long enough for us to destroy the flames…or at least give Hogwarts enough time to crumble into nothingness.”

Silence filled the tunnel as the reality of the situation began to sink in.

“So now what?” Theo asked quietly, eyeing the fracturing shield of magic that stood between them and the Fiendfyre.

Potter took a deep breath. “I think I know a spell that will temporarily part the flames, so I’ll go in first. Draco knows the counter-curse, so he’ll follow behind me. And the rest of you will try to keep the Fiendfyre at bay as long as possible. If all goes well, this’ll all be over in a matter of minutes.” _And if not, we’ll be dead_ , remained unsaid.

Potter turned to Draco, meeting his eyes for a long moment. “Ready?” He seemed to ask rhetorically, but something dark suddenly rose in Draco’s chest. He lunged forwards, pulling Potter into a searing kiss. He didn’t hear Weasley’s shocked yelp, or Granger’s odd gasp – he was focused only on Potter, the feeling of his warmth pressed against his body.

Draco let go, taking an unsteady step back. Potter stared at him, his glasses crooked on his nose. “Er,” Potter finally mumbled, coming back to himself. Draco felt a jolt of pleasure at his ability to rend Potter speechless. “Okay, then. Let’s do this.”

Potter raised a hand, and Draco steeled himself, mentally chanting the incantation.

And then the shield crumbled and they entered Hell.

Potter bellowed “PARTIS TEMPORUS!”

The flames parted, the horrible, fiery monsters held at bay for only a moment as Draco ran into the cleared space, raising his hands. The Fiendfyre leered in front of him, calling for him, for their new prey.

He could hear Potter scream something behind him, and searing heat licked at his clothes, while sweat began pouring down his face. But, no, he couldn’t afford to be distracted. Not now –

He couldn’t help but think of Potter’s crooked grin as he closed his eyes.

“ _EXSCINDO OMNINO!_ ”

Draco braced himself for the pouncing of living fire, for striking pain –

But it never came.

Seconds passed, yet Draco didn’t dare open his eyes.

_Am I dead?_

_Wham!_

Draco gasped as a heavy weight rammed into him, painfully knocking his back onto the scalding stone floor. He finally opened his eyes, only to see blackness.

“You did it!” And all at once, it seemed like his sense of hearing had been turned back on. Shouts of triumph and joy flew through the air, laughter and relief buzzing around them. “You did it! Draco, you did it!”

Draco realized the blackness was Potter’s hair, and that Potter had tackled him to the floor and was currently smothering him in a rough embrace. “H-Harry?” Potter lifted his head, looking up at Draco from where he’d pillowed his head against Draco’s chest. And then Potter beamed, leaning in to kiss Draco thoroughly.

“You fucking did it,” Potter laughed against Draco’s lips. Draco began to let the idea overtake him, fill him up with its truth.

He’d stopped the Fiendfyre.

He’d saved Hogwarts.

They were _alive_.

Draco smiled, wrapping his arms around Potter’s neck.

It was all over.

ooOoo

To be Continued…

ooOoo

 


	16. Lesson Sixteen

o

Lesson Sixteen

o

The Hospital Wing was bathed with the soft, pastel hues of dusk. Candles flickered on the nightstands, moths flittering in and out of the open windows, drawn in by the sources of heat.

“Y’know that was a pretty fucking stupid thing to do, right?” Angelina Johnson pointed out dryly as she crossed her arms, George Weasley smirking approvingly beside her.

Potter shrugged, shooting a grin at Draco, who rolled his eyes before poking at the receding burn on his arm. “Was pretty fucking brilliant, too,” Weasley brushed his shoulder against Johnson, who nodded in concession.

“How do you know that? You weren’t exactly there,” Weasley – Ron Weasley – said peevishly from his seat on the next bed, Granger securing the end of the bandage around his wrist. One-eared Weasley shrugged before ruffling his brother’s hair, causing the Weasel to squawk with annoyance.

“I’m just glad that everyone’s alright,” said Granger, her eyes going soft as she smoothened Weasley’s dishevelled hair.

“Yes, exactly, Miss Granger,” Headmistress McGonagall agreed as she strode into the room, her expression steely. She stood before Draco, Potter, and the others, distinctly unimpressed. “I do wish you had thought to inform me of your reckless plan before you had enacted it.” She turned her hard gaze on Draco. “I expected this kind of behaviour from Mister Potter and company, but I thought you would be a bit more level-headed, Mister Malfoy.”

Draco grimaced, breaking their stare to focus on the floor.

“That’s hardly fair,” Pansy interjected icily. “Draco just risked his life to save this entire castle, after all.”

“She’s right,” Potter agreed angrily. “Draco – none of us – should be punished for stopping this place from being destroyed.”

Draco looked at Potter, trying to ignore the pleasant warmth that filled his chest. McGonagall raised a judgemental eyebrow. “Please don’t put words in my mouth, Mister Potter. I am not disappointed with Mister Malfoy – in fact, I believe I owe all of you a great deal of thanks – but that does not stop my acknowledgement of how easily this could have gone wrong.”

Potter seemed to swallow whatever rebuttal he had planned, sombrely nodding. Silence settled over the Wing for a long moment.

The headmistress sighed. “That being said, we should celebrate this joyous occasion, as, fortunately, everything _was_ resolved.” McGonagall suddenly smiled, a soft, proud smile that Draco had never been privy to before. “Very good job, gentlemen. Hogwarts is safe because of you, along with Miss Parkinson, Miss Granger, Mister Zabini, Mister Nott, and Mister Weasley here,” she nodded in acknowledgment to the others. “There will be a celebratory feast this evening, and you all shall be the guests of honour. Now please go enjoy yourselves before the rebuilding work begins again tomorrow.”

She inclined her head one last time before she stepped out of the Hospital Wing. Draco stole a glance at Potter, who watched McGonagall leave with a pleased expression. “Well, you heard her,” Pansy spoke up. “Let’s celebrate! Now, who has some liquor?” The group laughed, the odd tension that had settled in the room evaporating.

“I believe me and George can handle that,” Johnson winked at them before heading through the entryway, pulling Weasley along after her. Flint and Wood passed by them in the archway, and Wood greeted Potter and his friends warmly. Flint thumped Draco on the shoulder, grunting a ‘Hello’ to Theo, Blaise, and Pansy.

“Ya did good, Malfoy,” Marcus said lowly, a flash of an oddly proud smile passing across his thin lips. Draco smiled slightly in return, and Wood grinned at him from next to Potter when he looked up.

“Well, I’m ready to get sloshed,” Weasley said bluntly.

“Couldn’t have put it better myself, Weasley,” Blaise said blithely, grinning when Weasley blinked with surprise.

“Er, right. Well, wanna go find George? I’m sure he’s ransacked the Three Broomsticks by now,” Weasley suggested, only looking more bemused when Blaise nodded, clapping Weasley on the back. Granger and Pansy watched the interaction closely, turning and making some sort of silent pact between the two of them.

“Let’s get going, then. We should let the lovebirds have some time to themselves, after all,” Pansy flashed a toothy grin at Draco and Potter, ignoring Weasley’s sickened sound behind her. Wood and Marcus glanced at Draco and Potter but didn’t say anything, merely shared a look before they too were heading out the door. (Oliver did stop to wink at Draco from over his shoulder, much to Draco’s bemusement.)

“Good idea, Pansy. Shall we?” Granger smiled politely at Pansy, who linked her arm with Granger’s before they walked out of the Hospital Wing, Blaise and Weasley following behind them.

Then it was just Draco, Theo, and Potter in the cavernous room. Theo rested a hand on Draco’s shoulder, smiling softly at him. “Good work, Dray-Dray.” With only the smallest glance to Potter, he leaned in to gently press his lips to Draco’s. Theo pulled back, his smile widening at Draco’s surprised expression. “Well, see you two at the feast,” he winked as well before strolling away, whistling some obnoxious tune that echoed for seconds after he’d passed from vision.

“Are you two –?” Potter asked, his expression dark. Draco narrowed his eyes, unconsciously tensing for a fight. But then Potter sighed, waving a hand as if to retract the question from the air. “You know what, ignore that I asked that. As long as you’re only sleeping with me now, I don’t care.”

Draco blinked. “…I see. So you and I are –?”

Potter stared at him. “Uh, aren’t we boyfriends or some shit?”

Draco stared back. “Ah. So we are.” He looked off, his gaze frozen on a spot on the opposite wall. _He was…_ together _with Harry Potter? Truly?_

“Is that really that much of a surprise? We have been fucking quite a bit,” Potter said lightly, the corners of his mouth twitching into a barely-contained smile. Draco sneered at him.

“Sorry if I don’t immediately conclude that our fucking means that we have to be in a exclusively monogamous, soppy, Gryffindor-esque relationship, Potter.” But Potter didn’t seem to be concerned – if anything, his smile had grown.

“I see. So you _don’t_ want to continue fucking?” He grinned knowingly as he sat next to Draco on the cot, making Draco simultaneously want to break his nose and snog him senseless.

“Fuck off, Potter. That’s not what I was – _mmph!_ ” But Draco never explained what he had meant, as Potter leaned across the little space between them, catching Draco’s mouth in a searing kiss.

And Draco resisted for the briefest moment before finally abandoning his weak hold on his dignity. He melted against Potter, reaching up to claw at Potter’s hair and nape, pulling Potter against him as he fell back onto the thin mattress.

They gasped against each other’s mouths, their groans filling the air when Potter rolled his hips against Draco, grinding their hardening erections together. “Ah, fuck,” Potter grunted as Draco bit at the sensitive skin on his neck, rocking their hips together harder.

“Come _on_ ,” Draco ordered, fumbling with Potter’s flies, a furious urgency rising in him as the evening continued to fade into night around them.

“Woah, Draco, hold on,” Potter eased quietly, grasping at Draco’s hands to stop him. He kissed Draco slowly and deeply, calming the dire insistence that was pounding in Draco’s chest. “We really don’t have to rush, you know. It’s all over. We’re fine,” he soothed. Draco stared up at him, taking in every little detail: the intensely-green hue of Potter’s irises, the thick locks of hair that fell over Potter’s forehead, the spattering of soot that clung to Potter’s cheek.

“Fuck me, Potter. _Now_ ,” Draco demanded as he reached up to pull off Potter’s glasses, feeling the blood surge through his veins as he watched Potter’s pupils dilate, blocking out those bright irises until only a sliver of colour remained.

Potter took a shuddering breath, licking his lips as he nudged his forehead against Draco’s. Draco closed his eyes, simply breathing Potter in. He felt Potter’s fingers at the buttons of his shirt, undoing them at an agonisingly-slow pace. Draco fisted the back of Potter’s top, licking his way into Potter’s mouth and savouring the rough growl that vibrated in Potter’s chest.

Draco sat up momentarily, allowing Potter to pull off his undone shirt, goose bumps rising where Potter’s fingertips brushed against the ticklish skin over his ribs. “Fuck, you are _so fucking hot_ ,” Potter murmured as he leaned down, capturing Draco’s lips once again as he unzipped both of their trousers, drawing back to drag off his own shirt, revealing firm muscles that contracted under Draco’s hand.

“ _Potter_ ,” Draco urged, grabbing Potter’s chin and kissing him firmly. Potter’s fingers pressed into the soft skin over Draco’s hipbones, barely pulling at the waistband of his pants. “You are such a fucking prick,” Draco groaned as Potter teased at slipping his fingers further down to his cock. Potter snickered against Draco’s throat, pulling his hand away completely.

“Yeah, pretty much. Come on, up,” Potter smiled, drawing away so that they could struggle out of their remaining clothes. And then they were bare and Draco was being pressed onto the mattress, his face turned into the pillow, with Potter pressing along his back. Potter mouthed at his ear, his neck, his shoulder blades, his –

“Potter, what the fuck – _ah_!”

And, _oh fuck_ , he couldn’t contain his moan as Potter licked at his tailbone before pulling apart his cheeks, tentatively sucking at the fluttering rim of his hole. “Potter – I –” Draco was nonsensical as Potter’s tongue teased him, burning hot and slippery. Draco shuddered, feeling his face burn as Potter pressed into him. He shook, giving into the sensation of Potter’s tongue licking him inside out.

Draco was soon gasping for breath, his cock twitching painfully against his stomach. Potter seemed blissfully content as he continued to lick into Draco, occasionally pulling back to lightly suck at the sensitive skin around his rim. Draco’s thighs trembled from strain, and he ached to come. “Fuck, Potter, just fucking put it in already,” he growled, unclenching his fist from the sheets.

“Not just yet, your majesty,” Potter teased breathily, pressing one final kiss against Draco’s arse before leaning against Draco’s back, pressing a biting kiss onto his nape as he wrapped a hand around Draco’s cock. “I need to find some lube, or this is going to hurt,” Potter said against Draco’s ear, sucking lightly on his earlobe.

“Then fucking find some, you bastard – and fucking lock the door,” Draco demanded, breathing heavily into the pillow. He felt Potter pull away, and heard him shuffle around for a moment before there was the unmistakable _clink!_ of a lock sliding into place. And then the cot _creak!_ -ed in distress as Potter pressed up against Draco’s back once again, his warm skin burning against Draco.

And then there was dull pressure against Draco’s arse, and he forced himself to relax as Potter slipped a finger into him. “So hot,” Potter breathed against Draco’s temple as he pressed another finger alongside the first. Draco turned his head on the pillow, reaching a hand back to pull Potter into a sloppy kiss.

“Come on, Potter. _Fuck me_ ,” Draco gasped against Potter’s lips, enjoying the way Potter’s breath hitched as Draco tightened around his fingers. Potter drew back, grasping at Draco’s hips and pulling them into a sharper angle.

“You are a fucking menace, you know?” Potter said from behind him. Draco grinned meanly, glancing over his shoulder to find Potter watching him with a strangely soft expression on his face.

“So are you going to try and fuck me into obedience or not?” And Potter suddenly thrust forward, pressing inside and stealing Draco’s breath away.

“Fuck, _yes_ ,” Draco hissed, scrabbling at the pillowcase. He waited only a brief moment to relax before shoving his arse back against Potter’s hips. Draco watched over his shoulder as Potter’s mouth turned into a savage smile and he rammed into Draco, causing them both to moan brokenly.

“Like that?” Potter whispered darkly as he thrust forward again.

“Fuck, yes. _Harder_ ,” Draco ordered, sighing happily as Potter proceeded to push into him more forcefully. And then that spark lit Draco’s nerves. “Oh, fuck! _There!_ ”

And then Potter was leaning down, wrapping his arms around Draco’s torso and pulling him upright so that they kneeled on the cot. Draco reached his hand back, threading it into Potter’s ridiculously messy hair, and Potter ground his hips against Draco’s arse. “God, Draco, you feel so good,” Potter mumbled against the sensitive skin behind Draco’s ear.

Draco shivered, and bit his lip trying to contain his moan as Potter reached around and grabbed his cock. Draco turned his head, pulling Potter’s head forward until their tongues could tangle messily.

“Oh, fuck, I’m close,” Draco gasped against Potter’s mouth as Potter thumbed the slit of his cock. Draco couldn’t help but tighten around Potter’s cock, enjoying the sound of Potter’s breath stuttering in response.

“Me too,” Potter grimaced, rolling his hips as he continued to fist Draco’s cock. And then he was sloppily pressing his mouth to Draco’s again, thrusting erratically as he panted and came.

“Oh, fuck, _Harry!_ ” Draco shuddered as Potter squeezed his hand around his cock, and the tight coil of tension in his abdomen released, his vision whiting out on the edges as Potter swallowed his agonized groan.

Draco fell forward, Potter weighing heavily against his back. They panted in the darkness, the candlelight casting their bodies into stark contrast. Potter pressed a messy kiss onto the junction of Draco’s shoulder and neck, whispering something unintelligible. Then Potter pulled out, leaving that unpleasant empty feeling in his wake. He collapsed next to Draco on the skinny mattress, forcing them to shuffle a bit until neither was in threat of falling off the sides.

Draco nudged his nose against Potter’s collarbone, sighing softly when Potter began lazily threading his fingers through Draco’s damp, matted hair. “We should probably get up and go find our inebriated friends,” Draco grumbled lightly, closing his eyes as he rested his cheek against Potter’s chest.

Potter chuckled. “Yeah – I don’t think Hermione can keep all of them from getting drunk off their arses. We are the guests of honour at a feast in a few hours, so we should try and be presentable.”

Draco snorted. “That’s rather a lost cause for you given your hair, Scarhead.”

Potter laughed, and Draco could feel him press a kiss onto Draco’s forehead. “Yeah, whatever, Ferret.”

Draco smothered his grin against Potter’s skin, hearing the silent confessions in the air.

ooOoo

Draco stood in his rooms, looking for any final pieces he might have forgotten. There was a sudden knock on the door, and he flicked a wrist, unlocking the entrance. “Come in,” he called, still studying every corner.

“Ah, all packed up, then?”

Draco turned, blinking in surprise at Granger’s bright smile and Weasley’s mildly-constipated look. “Ah, hello, Granger. Weasley. Can I help you with something?” He asked evenly.

“Headmistress McGonagall asked us to bring this to you,” Granger said as she passed him a letter, McGonagall’s fine script on the outside.

“I see. Is that all?” Draco asked, not wanting to open the correspondence with company present. Granger looked mildly disappointed.

“Well, we were wondering if you’d like to come to lunch with us? We are meeting Pansy, Blaise, Oliver, Flint, George and Angelina at the Three Broomsticks. We’d love for you to come,” she said earnestly.

Draco smiled slightly. “Sorry, Granger, but I’m busy. I do appreciate the gesture, though. And I promise that I’ll read your dissertation as soon as I can,” he said sincerely. Granger nodded, smiling again.

“Alright. Well, Ron and I will be going, then. See you in a few days for the Welcoming Feast,” she said before heading out the door. Weasley paused at the entrance, turning to look at Draco.

“Weasley?” Draco finally prompted as they continued to stare at one another in silence.

Weasley took a deep breath. “I don’t forgive you for all that you did, Malfoy, but if Harry thinks you’re good enough for him, then I can at least forget some of it. But you better watch your back if you ever hurt him, ya hear?”           

Draco swallowed, honestly shocked into silence. He merely nodded, which seemed to be enough for Weasley, who turned and left.

Draco stared at the empty doorway for a long moment before looking at the letter in his hands. He tore it open, drawing out the parchment. It read:

_Mister Malfoy,_

_It seems very clear that you have fulfilled your half of the agreement in regards to regaining some of my trust. So now it is my turn to complete our bargain: you are more than welcome to return to Hogwarts on September 1 st in order to study for your N.E.W.T. examinations and complete your seventh year. I owe you a great deal of gratitude, as do all of those who call Hogwarts their home._

_Thank you,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_P.S. I planned to announce this at the start-of-term feast, but I believe that you should know that you have been selected to be Head Boy if you return for your final year. Miss Granger shall be Head Girl, but she has not yet been notified. Congratulations._

Draco felt a slow grin spread across his face as the Head Boy badge came tumbling into his palm. “Head Boy,” he breathed to no one, pride welling up in his chest. He’d fucking done it all – he’d saved the castle, got Potter, got invited back – and is even Head Boy. _He’d done it._

“Draco?” He turned to see Theo standing in the open entryway, a scrutinising expression on his face.

“Oh, Theo. Come on in,” Draco said happily, slipping the letter and the pin into his robes. Theo raised an eyebrow, obviously curious about Draco’s pleasant attitude, but made no comment as he glanced around Draco’s quarters.

“So, you planning on coming back?”

Draco smiled at his friend, running a thumb over the warming metal of the Head Boy badge in his pocket. “Yes, I think so. I assume you still plan to return as well?”

Theo nodded. “Yeah. McGonagall’s offered me a position as Prefect, so I might as well. I still need those N.E.W.T.s, anyways.” Draco nodded, practically seeing the future being laid out before him – and it didn’t look quite as dark as it once had.

“Theo,” Draco suddenly said seriously, reaching out a hand to rest on Theo’s arm, “thank you for all that you’ve done for me. I’m grateful.”

Theo raised an eyebrow. “Who are you and what have you done with Draco Malfoy?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Fucking a Gryffindor has me acting like a fucking Hufflepuff, I suppose.”

Theo sniggered. “Quite. Well, see you in a few days, Draco.”

Draco nodded. “Yes, soon, Theo.”

“Am I interrupting something?” Draco and Theo both looked over to see Potter standing awkwardly in the doorway, his eyes flicking between the two of them. Theo smirked, leaning in to kiss Draco quickly just to spite Potter.

“Of course not, Potter.” Theo winked at Draco, who wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “See you.” And then he was gone, purposefully brushing his shoulder with Potter’s as he stepped past him.

Potter scowled at Draco. “He did that on purpose, didn’t he?”

Draco rolled his eyes as he turned his back to Potter, checking his rooms once again. “Of course, Potter. But, trust me, the Saviour of the Wizarding World has nothing to fear from Theodore Nott.”

Strong arms suddenly wrapped around his torso, pulling him back against Potter’s chest. “Alright, as long as you say so,” Potter murmured against Draco’s neck, making him shiver slightly. “Are you ready to go?”

Draco nodded, resisting his urge to lean into Potter’s embrace. “Yes, I believe so. Are you quite sure that you can accommodate me at Grimmauld Place? I could find my own lodgings for the next few days.”

Potter pressed a kiss to Draco’s jaw. “No, I insist. After all, we can just stay in bed for hours now – days, even. No castle to save or people to deal with. Just us.” Draco swallowed, already beginning to feel a little heated from the idea.

“Oh, but before I forget,” Potter said as he pulled away, drawing something out of his robes. Draco blinked at Potter held out a long stick of –

“Is that – my _wand_?” Draco asked, awed as he cradled the familiar piece of hawthorn in his palms.

“I was cleaning out my trunk and found it at the bottom – I must’ve forgotten about it after the battle here. I figured I ought to return it, even if you now use wandless magic.” Potter shrugged, trailing off.

Draco stared at his wand, reacquainting himself with the feel of the wood between his fingers. He looked at Potter. “Thank you, Potter. I thought I’d lost it.”

Potter rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, thanks for letting me borrow it. That wand saved all of us, really.” Draco nodded before sticking the wand in his pocket, the wood _clink!_ -ing against the Head Boy badge and his letter.

And Draco suddenly felt the need to grasp Potter by the back of the neck, pulling him in for a deep kiss. “Really, thank you for everything, Scarhead,” he whispered before drawing away and clearing his throat loudly. Potter shook his head in amusement.

“Come on, let’s get going,” Potter gestured to the door, a small smile on his lips. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

Draco nodded, taking in his surroundings one last time before picking up his bag and stepping alongside Potter, looking forward to their small holiday. And as Draco closed the door behind him, he ran a fond finger over the knob, which puckered its distorted face with distaste.

And if he didn’t look back, he didn’t feel guilty.

They would return, after all.

ooOoo

Fin

ooOoo

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! It's finally finished! Thank you so much to all of those who left comments and kudos and happy thoughts along the way, and I hope you enjoyed the story a little.  
> There is a sequel in the works, but school is kinda kickin' my butt at the moment, so I'll be focusing on that for a long while.  
> Feel free to come bug me on [Tumblr ](http://there-is-no-point-but-cynicism.tumblr.com/)if you'd like, and see you around! :D


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